


Crossing the Rubicon

by ladyeternal



Series: Angelic Mates 'verse [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Porn, Canonical Character Death, Episode: s05e18 Point of No Return, Grace Sex, M/M, Minor Character Death, Protective Dean Winchester, Rough Sex, Team Free Love, possible abuse of expository devices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1803136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It seems hard to sneak a look at God's cards.  But that He plays dice... is something that I cannot believe for a single moment.” – Albert Einstein</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crossing the Rubicon - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: If you’ve watched all of Season Five, none. Specific spoilers for episode 5x18.
> 
> Warnings: possible abuse of expository devices, rough sex, angst, canon minor character death, OMCs
> 
> Disclaimer: If I owned Supernatural, certain events would NEVER have happened and there would be unabashed pr0n. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored and am only playing with this world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> This fic got where I wanted it to go thanks in no short supply to my beta, [](http://secondplatypus.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://secondplatypus.livejournal.com/)**secondplatypus** , who is an unconquerable soul. Hope you all enjoy.
> 
> Music: [Running Up That Hill – Placebo](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Placebo:Running_Up_That_Hill)  
> [Forget Me – BT](http://lyrics.wikia.com/BT:Forget_Me)  
> [Life After You – Daughtry](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Daughtry:Life_After_You)  
> [I’d Come For You – Nickelback](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Nickelback%3AI'd_Come_For_You)  
> [If I Never Knew You – Jon Secada & Shanice](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Jon_Secada:If_I_Never_Knew_You)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

The ripple rolled through the fabric of reality. Both angels felt it, jerking their attention away from their respective searches.

_Gabriel…_

_*Go see what it is; I’ll get our mates to safety.*_

Following the disturbance, Castiel reached a clearing not unlike the space where Sam had buried Dean. Deadfall was all around him, the air so still that nothing seemed to be alive save Castiel himself.

A flicker-warning. Castiel spun, sword drawn and sweeping up towards the body before him as it scalloped, point driving towards the abdomen…

Until it was blocked effortlessly by a vambraced forearm. Castiel drew back fast, wary, focused on his opponent.

“Castiel!”

Startlement laced in the voice, a tidal rush that triggered memory almost buried after centuries of separate missions for God. “Abariel?” He turned, looked closer at the angel he had engaged. “Gamaliel?”

“Father help, Castiel.” Abariel rushed forward as Castiel sheathed his sword, clasping Castiel’s hands. “It’s been ages… and you can imagine what’s being said.”

“The price on your pinions is actually rather flattering, brother,” Gamaliel commented dryly, his own daggers remaining drawn. “You’ve rather impressively irritated Michael by mating his vessel.”

“I swear, some of the profanity he used can only have come from listening to the humans he governs.” Abariel released him, stepping back. Periwinkle eyes scanned their surroundings. “We’re being watched… how many, I don’t know… but they don’t want us near whatever’s about to rise.”

“Whoever,” Mal corrected. “Abbi, hurry.”

“Help me, Castiel.” The earth was starting to bulge and shift. Abariel knelt, dragging at the dirt with his slender hands. Castiel joined him a moment later; he could hear the muffled shouts, feel the terror coming off the newly-revived human in waves.

 _We’re here,_ Abariel thought at their rescuee. Calm flowed from him like a river into the earth, taking the edge off the desperation coming from the human whose fingers were just barely visible. _Don’t give up… we’ve got you…_

Castiel plunged one hand through the alluvial soil, grasping the wrist, was standing and hauling the human out of the ground… registering the wide-eyed, gasping disorientation on his face…

A scream split the sky: rage and pain and shock exploding like a bomb blast. Abbi was crying Mal’s name as Castiel turned.

Blood ran freely from Gamaliel’s right wing, a long gash torn through the thin membrane beneath the red-gold feathers by a celestial blade.

“Hide him,” Castiel snarled. The young human was shoved at Abariel as Castiel drew, sliding into the fray as Gamaliel folded his wings in and staved off his attackers. Barely noticing the flash as the human was hidden from angelic senses by Abariel, Castiel drew off one of the angels and fought at Gamaliel’s back, shielding the already-damaged wing from further injury.

The fight was short and ugly; the attacking angels were dead within minutes, and Gamaliel staggered as grace and blood gushed through matted feathers. “The boy?”

“Sleeping. I’ve sealed his dreams.” Abariel’s voice shook. “Mal?”

“Not yet.” Emerald-green eyes dilated in pain. “We need to get out of here.”

Castiel shouldered Gamaliel’s arm, his expression furiously grim. “Follow me,” he instructed Abariel shortly, vanishing with Gamaliel to the only safe place they had.

* * *

_Dean! Tell Gabriel to re-key the wards, now. I’m bringing wounded._

Dean’s eyes widened as he relayed the message to Gabriel. “Who would Cas trust to bring here, wounded or not?”

“Only two people I can think of.” Gabriel stretched out, opening the wards to his seraphim as they followed Castiel into Bobby’s house.

Pandemonium ensued. Abariel unburdening the human he carried into Dean’s startled arms. Gabriel catching the scent of blood, demanding answers even as Castiel was getting Gamaliel into a comfortable position and examining the wound. Sam staring at the unconscious youth Dean supported, his hazel eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Bobby watching the entire circus with nothing short of active dismay.

“Who did this?” Gabriel insisted again, focused on the rapidly-closing gash through Mal’s wing.

“They were Zachariel’s,” Abariel replied, periwinkle eyes still wide as he moved to sit beside his mate. “They were waiting for the boy to claw his way out of the ground.”

“I’m fine,” Mal protested. The fingers of his right hand laced into Abariel’s left, squeezing reassuringly. His skin was pale from loss of grace and blood, every freckle standing out sharply across his face. “Be good as new in a minute. Bastard surprised me, is all.” His eyes flickered to Dean and Sam, who were settling the mortal in question onto the window seat. Dean looked like he’d taken a death blow, and Sam was cleansing the dirt and decaying wood from the young man’s face with a damp cloth, a haunted expression on his face. “Why the boy’s so important to them, I don’t know. But they were shielding; they didn’t want us knowing their numbers.”

_“You can be replaced.”_

Castiel and Gabriel’s heads shot up as Dean’s memory of Uriel’s cryptic remark thundered darkly across the bond. Sam looked at his brother, understanding and deep fear carving dark holes in his heart. Castiel fought the urge to move to Dean’s side immediately, focusing on healing Gamaliel’s wing completely first. “Beloved?”

“He’s our brother,” Dean told the angels. His voice throbbed with pain and guilt and grief. “Dad’s kid with some nurse he had a fling with.”

“We didn’t find out he even existed until a pair of ghouls trying to get revenge on Dad killed him and called us while impersonating him and his mother,” Sam continued. “He never knew us.”

“But he’s your father’s child?” Gabriel’s question was sharp, his eyes flashing amber fire.

“Why else would Michael be interested in him?” Dean snapped. “I wouldn’t say yes willing and now he can’t even force it since Cas and I are mated. The sonuvabitch had Adam put back together from ashes and stuffed his soul back in his meat so he can wear the dumb kid, and who the Hell knows what Michael or Zachariah or anybody else told him before they made him claw his way out of a shallow grave!”

The room fell silent. As soon as it was fully healed, Castiel relinquished Gamaliel’s wing and stood. Gazing steadily at his mate for a moment, he crossed the room to Dean’s side and placed his right hand over the brand on Dean’s left shoulder. Dean’s face crumpled for half a moment as guilt poured out of him. “I didn’t know this was even considered as a back-up plan, Dean. Uriel must have known because of his status; if I had known, I would have warned you.”

“I know, Cas.” Dean’s weight leaned into Cas’ touch, right hand coming up to cover Castiel’s. “Don’t make it right, though. Dad never wanted the kid involved with this stuff, the way Sammy and I had to be.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “How long ‘til the angelic sleep whammy wears off?”

“At least until morning,” Abariel advised softly. “Between resurrection and clawing out of the ground and the sigils I etched into his ribs, he’ll need the rest.” He hadn’t let go of Gamaliel’s hand, his cormorant wings folded back but flicking with anxiety.

“And just who are you two?” Bobby demanded.

Gabriel sighed. “Not exactly the way I wanted to make introductions, but… guys, meet Abariel and Gamaliel; these two are my wingmen, so to speak. Flew by my side since they were made, and there are no angels I trust more than them.” He flashed an almost rueful half-smile at Castiel, who looked unfazed by the statement. “Abbi… Mal… meet Robert Singer: Winchester aide-de-camp and resident paternal figure…”

Unsure of how to react, Bobby nodded to them. Abariel smiled warmly, Mal nodding back with a solemn gaze.

“Dean Winchester, Castiel’s mate…”

“I’ve been itching to spar with you for two years, brother,” Gamaliel advised, a warrior’s grin tugging across his mouth. “You’ve got a reputation upstairs.”

“Anytime,” Dean replied with a gamine grin of his own. The prospect of testing his mettle against an angel when it wasn’t life-or-death intrigued him.

“Later, boys,” Gabriel admonished. He then took a soft breath, his fingers reaching out to tangle with Sam’s. “And this is **Sam**.”

Sam felt his heart flip over at the love throbbing in Gabriel’s voice, the note that sounded almost _proud_ to be introducing him to these seraphim… like Sam was something more than the Boy With the Demon Blood That Set Lucifer Free… Emerald and periwinkle eyes both swung to meet his, full and warm and strangely infinite, and Sam suddenly had no idea what to say. “Umm… hi.”

Abariel loosed his mate’s hand, smile turning somehow solemn. Before anyone could react, Gamaliel rose, daggers pulled free of their sheaths and held reversed in his hands, the blades flat against his inner forearms. With the fluid grace of a mountain cat, Gamaliel stepped into a deep, cross-vambraced bow before Sam, his newly mended wings flaring up in perfect arches, gleaming red-gold in the morning light.

“ **My blades are your shield** ,” he said, his voice threaded with something older than the stars. “ **My wings yours to direct. Do you require aught, but speak my name, and all in my power will be at your bidding.** ”

Abariel stepped up beside his made, a short sword in his slender hand as he also bowed, dark rainbows dancing from his green-black wings. “ **Be it a sword as your champion or a moment of calm in the gathering dark, you have but to call, and I am yours to command.** ”

Gabriel was practically glowing, obviously pleased beyond words. Sam just stared, wide-eyed and uncertain of precisely what to do. It was Dean who broke the silence this time. “Dude… did they just swear fealty to you?”

“I… think so?” Sam shook himself. “Thank you… I guess?”

Mal straightened with a smile and caught Sam in a bear hug. “Formalities, brother… you mated a Prince of Heaven; there _are_ a few perks.”

“Besides his stamina,” Abariel added with a sly wink at their archangel.

Sam blushed scarlet as the angels traded places, Abariel hugging him fiercely, and Dean snorted. “The Hell, man? How’d you get picked for all the legions of followers without having to say yes to being a prom dress?”

“I’ll trade you,” Sam snapped as he was released, suddenly peevish over the implication in Dean’s words. “I’ll be the reason Dad went to Hell and the Righteous Man that broke the First Seal, and you can be the Boy King that was manipulated for four years into setting Lucifer free… and the reason Mom got killed.”

Dean’s mouth compressed into a thin line of tight pain, regretting the uncensored statement. He could feel Sam’s guilt rip across the bond, unsure of how to respond to it. Always before, these fights had dissolved into silence and avoidance until something exploded and they had no choice but to deal with it. Now, with the bonds, there was no escaping the other’s emotions, no delaying attendance on the other’s reactions.

Something soothing, like the cool lap of calm ocean waves, washed through the room. Sam glanced at Abariel, whose darkened periwinkle eyes were gentle even as pinpricks of grace sparkled in their depths, though his thoughts were directed at Gabriel. _They’re what I always thought angels would be like._

 _*They haven’t lost what they were made to be,*_ Gabriel responded, quiet even in the vaults of Sam’s mind. _*Not all angels were made to be soldiers, Sam… not that many of them remember that with Michael gearing for the war of all wars.*_

There was a flicker of pain from his mate, a flash of not-quite-hurt. Sam suddenly couldn’t breathe, feeling closed in, trapped by too much coming at him too fast. “I’m gonna take Adam upstairs. We can’t leave him on the window seat all day.”

“I’ll help.” Castiel stepped forward and lifted Adam’s legs while Sam got a firm grip under Adam’s shoulders. Cas then flew them up to the guest room without a word.


	2. Crossing the Rubicon - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for the warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Sam blinked when they landed, disoriented. When his vision cleared, he and Castiel moved to lay Adam out on the bed, and then Sam bent, a quiet expression on his face as he removed Adam’s shoes. “We burned him,” Sam informed Cas, his tone muted with remembered grief. “I wanted to ask you to bring him back… but Dean said no.” Brushing a wisp of blonde hair away from Adam’s temple, Sam felt a lurch of pain as he realized that all the time he’d spent with this brother, all the bonding they’d done, hadn’t actually been real. He had no idea how this young man would react to he and Dean when Abariel’s sleep compulsion wore off. No clue if the real Adam had ever even wondered whether or not he had siblings out there somewhere. “They even recreated his clothes… shoes… everything.”

“Michael would need them,” Castiel advised solemnly. He could feel the hurt and guilt bleeding off Sam; the frustration and confusion, the uselessness and anger. “Sam…”

“It’s not like I chose this!” Sam burst, a hand raking through his long walnut-brown hair. “I was born this! Six months old and still sleeping in a cradle when that sonuvabitch made me what I am! I was just trying to use what I had to do some good! Okay, yes, fine: I wanted revenge for her making me watch my brother get torn to shreds. I wanted to kill her before she killed me because I was a threat to the position everyone was saying she wanted. But I didn’t ask to be Lucifer’s Vessel or the Boy King or the predestined leader of a demon army! I didn’t want it any more than Dean wants to be Michael’s vessel and lead the Host! I don’t… I just…”

Cas waited him out, let Sam rage and vent, taking all of it in with calm blue eyes until Sam ran out of steam. Sam sank onto the bed beside his newly-resurrected younger brother, his expression worn and his eyes cracked in pain, and Castiel finally took a soft breath before sitting beside him. “Dean knows that, Sam. It is no easier for him to bear the weight of his own destiny. But I believe this is what humans call ‘sibling rivalry’. He would never accept them if such oaths were offered to him, but he still feels jealousy because none have been. It has very little to do with whether or not you want them yourself.”

“He needs to get over it,” Sam grumpled wearily. “He’s still judging me… just like Dad did.”

“Do you believe it lessens his affection for you?”

“No.” Sam’s voice grew almost small; for a moment, Castiel saw the child in Sam, the perpetual younger brother, idolizing the elder and living for his approval even more than their father’s. “But he doesn’t respect me. I don’t know if he ever did, or ever will… but I want him to.”

Sighing softly, Castiel’s head tipped as he considered the young man before him. They were brothers now through Dean and Gabriel, and Castiel considered Sam a friend besides. And he had helped lead Sam to this… had helped push Sam further down the path that had driven such a wedge between the brothers. More than ever, he had a responsibility to strengthen Sam’s faith.

“Things haven’t… always been easy between us,” Cas started, hesitant as he carefully chose his words. “Even more so than between myself and Dean. But you have earned _my_ respect, Sam. You have taken responsibility for your actions, whatever the motives behind them or the events that led to them. You are more compassionate than I would have expected under any circumstances, and considering the amount of demon blood you have ingested over the course of your life, I am continually amazed that you retain even a glimmer of humanity. And you make Gabriel happier than he has been in thousands of years.

“Even before he left Heaven, the schism between Michael and Lucifer affected him deeply. You have started a healing of those wounds, brought him back to being an angel rather than a pagan godling. Regardless of what Dean thinks of you or what you may have done for which you wish to atone, that is an incalculable good… and the loyalty of Gabriel’s seraphim is well-deserved because of it.”

A weak, surprised smile pulled across Sam’s face. Castiel sent him a pulse of reassurance that Sam easily reciprocated, causing Castiel’s eyes to widen. “What?”

“Nothing,” Castiel demurred quickly. “Just… something I had not expected. Gabriel didn’t mention your facility with the bond.”

Sam’s eyebrows knitted with concern. “I know I’ve picked it up a little faster than Dean, but…”

For a long moment, Castiel watched Sam’s increasing anxiety and debated with himself. It should have been Gabriel saying this, but Castiel could well imagine how easily the ArchHerald could be distracted from discussing serious matters by the comforts of his mate’s soul and flesh. But Sam needed to know, and it might be helpful in the long run. “Have you ever researched the history of Azazel?”

“We didn’t even know his name until after Dean killed him,” Sam confessed. “There didn’t seem like much point.”

“Then it would surprise you to know that, unlike many demons, Azazel was not once human, but in fact a fallen angel?”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. “A… wait… an angel?”

“A Cherubim, and one of the Grigori,” Cas replied with a nod. “The fathers of the Nephilim. He was cast down, and became a demon, taking in the Dark to fill the void of his excised grace. The powers his blood opened to you are ultimately angelic, Sam.” He paused, almost hesitated, before adding: “Which means there is a possibility you could learn to wield them without first drinking demon blood.”

Sam’s heart thudded to a halt, his breath catching. “Why… why are you telling me this? I thought the angels didn’t want me using my powers… that they made me an abomination… even you said-”

“The demon blood you drank removed your inhibitions, Sam; it allowed you to embrace the darkness within when you were otherwise disinclined to do so.” Cas’ lips tugged in a melancholy smile. “Ruby was already exploiting you, using your desire to save Dean, and later for revenge. Her blood created the addiction, solidified her thrall, and gave you the extra push you needed towards that darkness. None of the other children Azazel created needed demon blood to activate the full extent of their powers; they merely indulged their own darkest natures.”

Swallowing, Sam realized that Castiel was right. Ansem and Ava and Jake hadn’t drunk demonic blood, and they’d had better control with a greater extension of ability than Andy or Lily or the others they’d heard of. Sam had been afraid of losing himself, of becoming a monster. It was only after he’d lost Dean and started drinking Ruby’s blood that he’d stopped caring about what he became; only cared about annihilating Lilith in revenge for destroying his world. “And now that I’m mated to Gabriel, you think he can help me learn how to use them without doing either.”

“Your greater facility with the bond is because of your powers,” Castiel confirmed. “They are born of an angel’s blood; tainted by the Fall, yes, but angelic all the same. Gabriel can teach you to unlock them; I have little doubt of that. He is far more powerful than I.”

A thrill rushed through Sam’s veins at the thought of regaining his abilities without his addiction, without the attendant cravings and the loss of his humanity. But Castiel’s eyes were still on him, steady and gentle, and Sam hesitated. “There’s more to this, isn’t there? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

There was a moment’s pause. A flicker of something unearthly, inhuman, in those blue, blue eyes. “Fate will not be denied, Sam. In Dean’s case, Michael has an alternative in your brother. A back-up plan. But Lucifer has rested all his effort, all his hope, all his chance on you. The deaths of most of your mother’s family ensured that you are the only possible Vessel that can truly hold him. All others will be destroyed as his current vessel is, unable to contain him well or long enough to withstand the ultimate confrontation with Michael.”

Shadow filled the room. Sam’s spine prickled. “What are you saying?”

“Only that this is far from over, Sam.” Cas’ deep voice was as regretful as Sam had ever heard it. “And no matter what any of us do, even my Father, Fate always gets Her way in the end. It may not be in a manner we expect, but it _will_ happen.”

* * *

Dean came up to see Sam hours later, entering on near-silent feet. _*Look, Sam… you know I didn’t mean it like that, right?*_

Not glancing up, Sam decided to go with the truth. _No, Dean. I don’t know that, no more than you know that I don’t really think of you as weak._ He felt Dean startle, refusing to look up from the book he was reading. _We say things and we hurt each other and we never really fix it. Just slap a bandage on, maybe a couple stitches and act like the scars aren’t there… like we’ve forgiven when we haven’t. And I’m sick of white-knuckling through and waiting for the fact that you still think I’m a monster to crop back up again._

For a long moment, Dean battled. He usually ran from things like this, desperate for something he could fight, something physical he could make bleed. His emotions ran strong, too strong to contain, making him as weak as Sam had ever accused him of being.

But this was his Sammy. And Sam was still waiting for the door to close in his face. Still waiting to be cast down and reviled, never to be allowed back.

For Dean to be like their father. Like Michael. Like God.

Moving fast, Dean stepped close and hauled Sam up by his elbows. Startled, Sam flailed in his grip, but hostility was the antithesis of what flowed across the bond, and the intensity of Dean’s gaze quieted Sam’s struggles as it registered. “You listen to me, Sammy,” Dean growled softly. “I don’t give a crap about destiny or fate or being vessels or good or evil or anything else. Fuck it all. You ain’t Lucifer and I ain’t Michael. I don’t care what you do: I’m never just gonna let you go.”

“You said not to come back!” Sam hissed.

“And I said I was sorry!”

“You _said_ I was a vampire!” Sam shoved Dean back, knifing pain spilling out, a festering wound finally reopened. “You _said_ you were done saving me. Why you changed your mind, I don’t know, but I’m done waiting for you to change it back.”

For half a moment, Dean’s mouth hung open in shock. And then he was there, the physical following the mental, and his hands were bracing the sides of Sam’s head as he pressed his forehead into Sam’s and all but shoved the images at him.

_The Beautiful Room. Alone for hours, worry gnawing at his gut. He was here to save Sam from whatever lay in store, doing the angels’ bidding to spare Sam a confrontation Dean wasn’t sure he’d survive. A broken voicemail, vulnerable, making the first move to reconcile like he always did._

_*I didn’t say what you think I did,*_ Dean thought at him, desperation fraying the edges. _*That sonuvabitch Zachariah played us both. You were supposed to be stuck in that convent when the Devil rose and Michael was gonna come for me in that room and we were supposed to say yes and this whole year never would’ve happened. One of us would be dead right now and the world with us. The whole damn dumb show was rigged and we still beat it because I **won’t ever give up on you.** Fuck them and Destiny and everything else, Sam; that’s **my** blood in your veins, too! You were mine first, Sam! You’ll always be mine!*_

_Too fast. Dean couldn’t control what came across, couldn’t filter as thoughts stormed through him and at Sam, fleeting and furious. Dreamscapes and illusions, Heaven and Earth and Hell and everything in between._

_Their father’s last command: kill Sam if you can’t save him. Refusal to accept that it would ever come to that. Incapacity to take that step, regardless of the Hell and fury that might be unleashed._

_Two years later, finally putting the pieces together, understanding the echoes of Destiny that underscored everything they’d done, knowing at last what his father couldn’t possibly have. And still refusing to take the life he’d protected since he’d been nearly five years old._

_Being five, holding Sam. Dad was working, always working. Always busy. Dean had learned how to hold Sam, how to feed and change him. He’d taken being a big brother seriously when Mom had been alive, and he could do everything. He looked after Sam, wouldn’t let the sitters touch his little brother. Sam was his… all he had left of Mom…_

_Mom and Jess never died. Dad never hunted. Sam went to college and proposed to Jess; was going to have the life he’d always wanted so badly. Normal… everything beautiful and warm and happy and normal… but he and Sam weren’t close. Were barely more than strangers. Wrong. So wrong. Nothing could be more wrong because even with Mom and a hot girlfriend without Sam he felt alone…_

_Alone… cut off. Something missing. Something important. Needed to find it. To find the piece that went where nothing else fit… following the ache inside him like a homing beacon…_

_“I was ready to follow Sam.”_

_Confusion, not sure what the statement really meant. Wishing he could be sure they could trust Casey, feeling there was a chance they might. Damn sight more of a chance than Ruby. Genuinely regretting her death; not mourning exactly, but being sorry all the same, because he understood devotion to Sammy… he’d devoted his whole life to Sammy…_

_Life fading, trickling through his fingers, powerless to stop it. Sam cold on a filthy mattress, lifeless. Gone. Alone… he was finally, utterly alone and it wasn’t right… they were supposed to be together…_

_“What am I supposed to do?!”_

_Turn back… have to turn back… a bad feeling, twisting like a knife in his gut. Sam was in trouble. Sammy was in danger and he had to go back, just to make sure… Sammy wasn’t hunting anymore but he was still his brother…_

_Ignoring how much he was hurting Sam. Seeing every wound and averting his eyes. He was being an ass and he knew it, but he wouldn’t put more on Sam than he already was. Wouldn’t inflict the terror that his impending death and descent caused on his Sammy… Sammy would survive…_

_Nothing was more important than keeping Sam alive, no matter the cost to himself… the cost to them and the way it tore a gap he couldn’t close… couldn’t bring himself to touch Sam without it feeling like goodbye… without cutting more holes in them both…_

_Wrestling in the dark. Finding that missing piece. The joy of it singing in his veins because it was like coming home… felt right… felt perfect… no matter how bad, this was how they were supposed to be…_

_Brothers._

_Sammy… Sammy…_

_**My Sam.** _

Sam gasped as Dean finally wrenched away, pulling his mind back into itself. He stared at Dean, uncomprehending, stunned by the depth of what he’d just seen. “Dean…”

“I’m not Michael,” Dean told him, soft and heartfelt, shaken by the force of what he’d finally let out. He hadn’t meant to; hadn’t known how to control it. With the bond, it seemed like he could only fling it open wide or close it off entirely. There were no half-measures, no mediums, just like his emotions. Just like everything he did. But there was no taking it back… and if he trusted anyone not to use his emotions against him, it was Sammy. His Sam. “Sonuvabitch gave up on his brother… on all of ‘em, really: Uriel and all the angels he killed, Cas, Gabriel… Michael gave up on his family. You’re _**mine**_ , Sammy. I ain’t him, and I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not now. Not ever.”

One heartbeat. Two. And then Sam threw himself into Dean’s arms, the shell of bitterness and guilt and self-loathing around his heart cracking as he let Dean catch him. Let Dean be his big brother again. Let that piece of Lucifer slip away.

Dean loved him. No matter what, Dean wasn’t letting go.

“Now can we please dispense with the chick stuff?” Dean asked, his voice gruff with emotion; despite his protestation, he hadn’t actually let go of Sam yet, holding his brother just as fiercely as Sam held him. “ ‘Cause Gabriel’s getting all antsy about some guy named Zira showing up and it’s bugging the Hell outta Cas.”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Sam asked, his nose buried in Dean’s hair and inhaling the familiar scent of his brother: apple shampoo and Nautica aftershave. Just the faintest traces of gun oil and cordite and warm salt. Dean pulled away, apparently not noticing the gesture, to give Sam a look that clearly said _‘if I have to tell you, you’re doin’ it wrong’_. Sam blushed fuchsia. “Oh.”

“Yeah: ‘oh’.” Dean shook his head. “Man, I should not have to spell this stuff out for you. Now go blow your archangel until he calms down, wouldja? Thanks.”

“What about Adam?”

Those blue-green eyes turned, focusing on the prone, silent form of their younger brother. Sam didn’t need the bond to see and feel the responsibility for the boy slot into place for Dean; could sense just from long years of familiarity the way Dean assimilated Adam into their family, into his charge, with no resistance or rancor. Only regret for chances lost, and resolve to do better than their father. “I’ll stay with him.”

Nodding once, Sam squeezed Dean again before releasing him and heading down to find Gabriel.


	3. Crossing the Rubicon – Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for the warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

The archangel was outside in the salvage yard; for all appearances, he was sitting calmly on the hood of a wreck, unerringly flipping a bottomless deck of playing cards into an old coffee can.

He was anything but calm. Sam could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. Could tell from the absence of candy wrappers that Gabriel was too upset to eat. It was a bad sign. “Hey.”

“Hey, gorgeous.” The smile Gabriel offered didn’t quite meet his eyes, worrying Sam that much more. The cards vanished in a small wavering flicker, signaling that Gabriel had conjured them on the spot. “How’s the kid?”

“Still sleeping.” Sam pushed himself up onto the car beside his mate, schooling his expression into the studied nonchalance that he’d perfected over the years. Dean usually saw through it in thirty seconds. “So… who’s Zira and why are you so anxious about him showing up?”

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel expanded, his voice subdued. “Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He’s a Principality, and was stationed on Earth by Dad way before any of this other nonsense went down.” Sighing, he let his weight drop back, braced by his elbows as he looked up into the night sky. “I don’t know how much he’s been keeping track of what’s going on now. But he helped thwart a pretty serious attempt to jumpstart this mess about twenty years back, and he’s got a collection of rare books that Singer’d go bananas for.”

Sam snorted, glancing down at his lover. “Have a little trouble picturing Bobby going ‘bananas’ for much of anything.”

“Eh, Singer’s one of the quiet ones.” Gabriel’s lips twitched. “Under that grizzled exterior beats the heart of a wild child; you mark my words.”

Turning more fully, Sam let his eye drift over the full length of his mate. Every line of Gabriel’s body was tense, even in this relaxed-looking pose. Something about this angel was making Gabriel uneasy, and Sam couldn’t understand why. “Gabriel…”

The understanding, coaxing tone in Sam’s voice snaked past the archangel’s defenses, especially when coupled with the loving warmth that pulsed across their mate bond and suffused the angel’s grace. “He may or may not know that I left… I have no idea how much he’s been told by the Host over the years or what he knows now. I know that he defied the entire Host in defense of an antichrist that had decided he didn’t want any part of Armageddon, and that he’s been left alone.”

“Maybe because this antichrist, whoever he was, could be replaced,” Sam mused, thinking of Jesse. He wondered where the boy was now, how he was faring. It nagged at him that the child was alone, impending apocalypse or no, in a world that was neither kind nor forgiving to innocents. “Maybe it wasn’t an important enough thing to punish him over, especially since Dean and I weren’t old enough to be used as Vessels yet.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Maybe.”

The indifference was telling. Sam searched Gabriel’s face, trying to read his mate. And then, suddenly, he understood. “You’re worried about his reaction when he finds out you’re still alive. The fact that you left, that you became a Trickster… that you mated me. You’re afraid of what he thinks… of what they all think.”

Amber eyes flared, defiantly bright. The compassion in Sam’s face and spirit muffled the spark before it could blaze, and Gabriel’s expression softened. “I never really planned on ever seeing any of them again. When the whole thing blew, I was going to leave; go to Pandora or Selene or Alpha Centauri… just keep going. I never… there just wasn’t any point. I was just going to be gone and now…” He shrugged, reaching up and softly brushing his fingers down Sam’s chest.

Just the lightest pass of those fingertips against the tip of the left barbell beneath his shirt. Sam let out a little gasping moan, his eyes fluttering closed as the gentle twist sent quivers of vibrating electricity across Sam’s every nerve. When he pulled his eyes open again, Gabriel was gazing at him, eyes hooded and bright, a kind of appreciative wonder on his face that Sam had seen before but never really understood. “Gabriel…”

“I don’t regret staying,” he offered quietly. “But there have been a thousand moments when I’ve wished I could just bring the three of you with me… Dean because you wouldn’t leave without him and Cas because of Dean and because he deserves an out… just take all of you and get as far away as we can and never look back.”

Leaning close, Sam pressed a gentle kiss to Gabriel’s mouth. The archangel made a quiet sound of want and pressed closer even as Sam urged him down, back flush against the hood of the car still warm from the rays of the sun. Huge hands trailed everywhere, teasing through soft cotton, until Gabriel lost track of everything but the way Sam touched him.

The archangel barely registered the way Sam’s fingers slipped down to open his jeans, thoroughly distracted by the way Sam’s hair felt as he wound his fingers into it as an anchor while they kissed. But there was no missing the way Sam urged the recalcitrant fabric down to his knees even as his mate’s mouth retreated from his own, and a pathetically needy sound escaped in its wake. “Sam…”

“I’ve got you.” Sam tried to tamp down the butterflies in his stomach, letting his breath ghost over the turgid flesh he’d bared. He’d done this a few times for Gabriel since their mating, but he felt awkward about it, foolish and unpracticed, and even though he always got quite tangible proof that Gabriel enjoyed it, Sam couldn’t keep his insecurities from flaring up.

They didn’t stop him from tracing the large vein with his tongue at a languid pace, and they got easier to ignore when Gabriel moaned loud enough to be heard for a country mile.

By the time Sam settled in, wrapping his lips around the leaking head and sorting out how to hollow his cheeks just the right way, anxiety over technique was a vague weight in his belly that was easily overlooked, overpowered by other emotions. Gabriel’s fingers were still in his hair, flexing as if wanting to control Sam’s movements but holding back. It made Sam push for more, try to take Gabriel deeper than he’d done before, and he could feel more than hear Gabriel apologizing over the sound of his own thundering heartbeat as his gag reflex thwarted him.

It only made Sam try harder, wanting to make Gabriel lose control. He forced his throat to relax, a few experimental swallows before he got the knack of it. It was a matter of another inch, no more, but it had Sam giving a soft hum of accomplishment as he hollowed his cheeks again. Gabriel made a choked off noise in his own throat, an aborted jerk of his hips Sam’s only warning before he was suddenly pulsing thick and hot into Sam’s mouth, and Sam’s cheeks burned when he had to pull off rather than choke, stretching up to cover Gabriel’s mouth with his own while his hand wrapped around his mate’s twitching length and stroke him through the climax.

When Gabriel finally let Sam out of the kiss, his tongue chasing the last vestiges of his own salt musk on his lover’s lips, Sam was blushing crimson in the darkness, his hazel eyes blown wide even as they ducked his direct gaze. He could sense the way Sam curled inward just a little, abashed for such adorable human reasons that Gabriel couldn’t help smiling.

“We should go inside,” Sam suggested before Gabriel could speak. “Abbi and Mal will let you know when they’re incoming, right?”

“They’ll need to, so I can open things up to let Zira inside.” Gabriel reached up, brushing a thumb up the arch of Sam’s cheek. “You know you don’t have to prove anything to me, right?” Sam’s head turned slightly, away from the archangel’s fingers and gaze. Gabriel caught Sam’s chin and turned it back again. “I mean it, Sam.”

When those hazel eyes met shimmering amber again, they were playful, disguising the way doubt in himself still flickered inside the human’s mind. Gabriel doubted it would ever be gone completely, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t do everything he could to shrink it. “Let’s wait for them inside,” Sam suggested again.

Without bothering to change their position, Gabriel whisked them to their bedroom with a click of his fingers.

* * *

It wasn’t much before dawn when Adam finally woke. He sat up fast, breath panting through his nose, eyes wide. Dean slid to the edge of the bed, hands bracing gently at Adam’s shoulders as he caught the focus of that half-panicked blue gaze. “Easy… easy, Adam. You’re okay… s’okay…”

Azure eyes focused, taking in the face before him, studying it for a moment… “Dean,” he said finally. “You’re Dean.”

“Yeah.” A moment of almost ridiculous joy welled up. If Adam knew him… Dean squelched it quickly, sharply reminding himself that Adam had no reason to recognize him, or Sam, unless Zachariah had shown him their faces. And the circumstances surrounding that weren’t likely to be promising. “Angels read you in, huh?”

“Where are they?” Adam asked, feeling some of the panic recede a little. Dean was looking at him with concern, not hostility; the angels had told him that Dean put family above everything… even the world. “They were supposed to be waiting for me.”

“Me and Sam got angels on our side, too, and they got to you first.” Dean slowly removed his hands from Adam’s shoulders, measuring his brother’s temperament. There was little doubt that he’d been told a somewhat slanted version of events; how much had been glossed over or lied about, Dean couldn’t be sure. He needed to tread carefully here if he was going to keep this brother safe. “You up for a beer? Maybe some food? Gettin’ resurrected always makes me hungry.”

Careful evaluation. Searching for a sign of deception. Dean could easily see the Winchester stamp in this youngest son, more so than when it had been the ghoul impersonating him. “Sure… yeah, I could eat.”

Dean nodded and stood, letting Adam out of the bed and leading him down to Bobby’s kitchen. “Any chance you dig cold meatloaf sandwiches?”

“With plenty of ketchup,” Adam confirmed, his tone warming. Zachariah hadn’t mentioned how long it would take for Michael to meet him, and Adam figured food wasn’t high on the angelic priority list. Having something in common with one of his brothers was an unexpectedly pleasant notion, as well.

The sandwiches were assembled in near silence, and then Dean and Adam settled in at Bobby’s kitchen table, unsure of how or where to begin. Both were Vessels of the First Archangel. Both resurrected after gruesome, painful deaths. Both missed their father, who had done what he could to protect them under impossible circumstances and against odds more overwhelming than he’d ever known.

“So… what’d they tell you?” Dean finally asked. “Gonna save the world? Kill the Devil? End the apocalypse?”

“Pretty much.” Adam was still calculating Dean, his gaze careful. “Said you refused… that you’d rather let the world burn.”

“That’s what they say,” Dean replied. “Whaddyou think?” Adam remained silent for a moment, and Dean smiled. “Yeah… thought so. You don’t know me anymore’n I know you. But Dad taught you to be smart, even if he didn’t tell you ‘bout hunting, and that means you don’t take anything at face value. You think that don’t apply to angels, too?”

“They’re trying to stop the Devil,” Adam countered.

“So’re we, and no matter what they say, they’re the ones that let him out.” Dean took a long drink off his beer. “Purposely screwed the pooch on the seals; tried to keep me and Sam apart and trap us into sayin’ yes… if I’d gotten to Sam faster, he never woulda iced the bitch.”

“If he hadn’t, someone else was probably lined up to do it,” Adam reasoned. “Whether both sides wanted Lucifer out or not, it was too important for somebody not to have a back-up plan.”

“Not the point, though.” Dean let the conversation lapse for a moment, watching quietly as Adam devoured his sandwich. No matter what the angels had said to him before his resurrection, Adam had a good head on his shoulders. There was half a shot of convincing him that whatever the angels had promised in return for this wasn’t worth the cost to everything they’d ever known. “Look… Dad didn’t want you in this; figured it’d be safer if you didn’t know about what he did.”

“Guess the monster that ate me alive didn’t get that memo,” Adam replied acidly. “You really gonna pull the ‘family first’ card here? ‘Cause we might be blood, but we’re not family. My only family’s my mom, and if I ever want to see her again, then I’ve got a job to do.”

“Actually, I was gonna say that knowing what I know now, it was the worst mistake Dad ever made,” Dean shot back. “And even if you really do think the angels’d keep their promises, how’re you gonna offer up your meat for Michael’s new suit if he can’t find you?” Adam startled visibly, his brow furrowing in confusion. “That’s right: you’re hidden just like we are, and there are blocks on your dreams to keep the angels out of your head. They can’t find you and you can’t Bat-signal ‘em.”

Adam shoved his chair back from the table. “You can’t keep me here,” he snapped, “and Michael’s an archangel; the _First_ archangel; not some half-powered little sylph in robes playing the harp. You wouldn’t step up and he’s chosen me to help save the world. I’ll find a way to get to him or bring him to me, and you can’t stop what’s going to happen.”

“We’ve got our own archangel, and I ain’t lettin’ any brother of mine get used as an angel’s Muppet.” Dean’s viridian eyes burned in the glow of the dawn, his knuckles white as he clenched his beer bottle nearly tight enough to shatter it.

“How are you planning to stop me?” Adam challenged.

“We have ways,” came a growl from behind them.

Before Adam could so much as spin, Castiel’s fingers made contact and Adam slumped over. Dean looked at Cas, startled and a little relieved. “Panic room,” he instructed softly.

Cas nodded, watching as Dean rose and lifted the limp form from the seat to carry him below. His mate was quiet, within and without, the flame that had leapt in his eyes only moments ago now reduced to hollow embers. It was a warning sign.

Dean was reaching his breaking point.

Once Dean had Adam tucked in on the narrow cot, he stood watching his brother for long, uncounted minutes. All he could think was the failure Adam represented; Dean had failed his father, his brothers, his angel, even his destiny. And now Adam, an innocent kid who should have been left in peace both on Earth and in Heaven, was being asked to carry the weight Dean had refused to bear.

It was supposed to be him.

“Beloved?”

Cas’ soft, gravelly voice interrupted his thoughts. Dean shook himself. “Somebody’ll need to watch him,” he advised, his tone brusque, belying the turmoil and vulnerability inside.

“I’ll stay,” Castiel volunteered. “You should take the opportunity to get a few hours’ sleep.”

“Yeah.” Dean hoped Cas couldn’t feel what was roiling around inside him just now. Didn’t want to inflict his total worthlessness on his mate. “Yeah… thanks.”

Dean turned to go. Castiel watched him leaving, a knot of fear growing in his grace. Dean was in danger; an amorphous threat hung in the air, and Castiel could not enter Dean’s thoughts. Dean was shielding, keeping him out, blocking himself away… the knot tightened. “Dean.”

It wasn’t a shout, but urgency saturated that rough velvet voice. Dean stopped, half-turning on instinct. Castiel approached him, gazing up into those hooded eyes. One hand slid up Dean’s chest, around the graceful column of Dean’s neck, and drew Dean’s head down as his own surged up, capturing Dean’s mouth for a deep, artless kiss.

A moan escaped, tiny and wanton, and Dean’s hands slid around Castiel’s torso, molding that lithe, solid body against his own. Cas could taste the war Dean waged with himself in the hunger of his mate’s lips, wished he could take it away and make everything easier. But it was a decision Dean had to make for himself.

And Castiel was afraid, because he knew what Dean’s choice was likely to be.

When their lips parted and Dean’s eyes opened, dark and blown wide, Castiel’s hands slid to frame that beautiful face. The face he’d taken such care to mend perfectly. He’d placed every freckle, re-sculpted bone and cartilage, stretched muscle and skin like canvas. His master work. His mate. His beloved.

“No matter what happens,” Castiel told him gently. “I love you. And I will never regret that, or the consequences.”

Pain tore across that face and Castiel knew Dean was shielding. Dean himself might not have realized it, but he was blocking Castiel out, keeping everything inside. Cas could do nothing; could only pray that Dean would not act as he feared. He would not force his way in. To do so would shatter Dean’s trust, fragile and new-forming, delicate as glass.

Strong arms folded Castiel closer, and Dean buried his face in the wildness of Castiel’s hair, inhaling the scent of stardust and dreams. “You, too,” Dean whispered against his scalp. “You gotta believe that, Cas.”

Resting for another long moment against his mate’s solidly muscled frame, Castiel tried to ignore his fear. “You are all in which I believe, beloved.”

* * *

There were a lot of things Dean had learned over his lifetime of hunting. Mostly, he’d learned to listen and adapt. To use his surroundings to his advantage. To ignore nothing that gave him an edge. John Winchester had taught his sons nearly everything the Marines had taught him, including how to think in the heat of a battle. In the middle of a war in which there were no clear fronts, no demarcation zones and lines of engagement. Only what resources were at hand, and a unit to get through in one piece.

He could shield. Dean knew he could keep Cas and Sam and Gabriel out if he wanted to, away from his thoughts and feelings. Maybe not for long, but long enough.

He didn’t take the Impala. He wouldn’t need it. Moving on foot, listening hard for the flutter of wings, Dean found his way to the local church. The Chapel of Saint Michael. Like most small town churches, the local pastor didn’t like locking the doors even at night. Dean slid inside and made his way to the altar, heart hammering in his ears.

“Zachariah…” Dean swallowed through the rasp in his throat. He could hate himself later. “I know you can hear me, you sonuvabitch. You ain’t getting your hands on Adam. You got it? You and Michael wanna push a Winchester around? You come down to Sioux Falls and get me. The kid’s off limits.”

Silence echoed in the chancel. Dean knew the risk he was taking. Could only hope Cas and Gabriel would understand. He knew Sam wouldn’t. But he needed to do this. He wouldn’t let down another little brother. “Come on, you bastard! You want a shot at a Winchester, you junkless freak!? Chapel of Saint Michael, Sioux Falls, South Dakota! _Come on!_ ”

A hand clamped savagely at the back of his neck. Dean had time to swing half a blow into Zachariah’s jaw before he was flung like a rag doll up against the choir rail. Dean spun and tumbled over, sprawling across the seats, unable to catch himself. And then he was being hauled up before Dean could catch his breath, eyes glowing murderously at the angel gripping his throat.

“You’re a fool,” Zachariah snarled, fury edging his entire being. “You really think we’ll do anything but kill whoever gets in our way?”

“You’ll just have to make do with me,” Dean spat hoarsely. “ ‘Cause you ain’t getting near my brothers.”

The grip on his throat tightened; Dean’s vision swam black, an apology to Cas almost escaping…

And then he was being flung down across a marble floor he remembered too well. Shoving to his feet, he saw the Baroque décor. The table that had once been laden with hamburgers and beer. The doorless walls and the paintings. Saint Michael and the Dragon.

“Today’s your lucky day, Dean.” Dean whirled to see Zachariah a few feet away, his pasty face smugly superior. “He’s decided to be merciful. You tell us where the second scion is; we leave the others alone. He’ll even spare Castiel the punishment he so richly deserves.”

“Go to Hell,” Dean snapped.

Zachariah’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in here, Dean. You think your bond prevents us from harming you? Or him? We can hurl you back into the Pit with a thought, and make him feel every moment you spend under Marbas’ skill. Or we could destroy his current vessel so utterly that he has no choice but to take the daughter again.” The archangel paced closer, his smile vicious. “Imagine the intensity of the mating bond, the compulsion towards physical contact… but instead of a semi-handsome adult male, you’re desperate to fuck a twelve-year-old girl that will never age so long as Castiel’s within her.”

“You bastard.” The very concept was horrifying; the words breathed out through jaws clenched tight against the impulse to simply rip the archangel’s throat out.

“Your bravado is meaningless, Dean.” Another pace closer, menace in every line of Zachariah’s borrowed body. “You will learn to obey the will of Heaven, or you will be broken by it. There is no alternative. So think carefully, Dean. Choose wisely… because the wrong choice again will end in disaster for everything you love.”

There was barely a rustle of feathers, and Dean was suddenly, terrifyingly alone.


	4. Crossing the Rubicon – Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for the warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Adam woke to the sound of frantic shouting as a metal door was dragged open. A glance around the room showed not Dean, but a man in a tan trench coat seated at a desk across the room. He remembered the man’s presence from the field where he’d been resurrected; he was an angel. Moments later, the face registered. _Castiel… he’s the angel that helped Dean get away from Michael once before… the one that he’s mated to…_ Sitting up slowly, Adam’s instincts as a healer began to kick in. Something about the angel seemed so… sad…

“Cas!” Sam burst through the door, panic written across his face. “I can’t sense Dean; he’s not in the house or the yard. Is he okay? Where is he?”

Castiel looked up and Sam faltered a step back. There was a hollow expression in those lapis eyes; raw pain ripped up out of the angel across the bond that staggered Sam where he stood. “He is shielding, Sam. Not even I can sense Dean so long as he is keeping us out.”

Sam stared, gape-mouthed; an angel Adam didn’t know stepped past him, eyes burning amber fire. “How in the Seven Hells did he figure out how to shield that well on his own? And _why_ did you allow it?”

Adam watched Castiel’s eyes darken with anger. “Dean’s autonomy is precious to him, and you above anyone should appreciate how private he truly is. He shields as naturally as breathing and I will not force him to let me in.”

The other angel was stony-faced for a long moment, and then his entire body uncoiled with a long-suffering sigh and a dramatic eye roll, and he spoke in a language Adam had never heard before.

“When we pull Dean outta the fire on this one, you and I have having a _long_ chat about bondage and domination, bro,” Gabriel said in Enochian. “I’ve never met anyone in more desperate need of taking down into deep subspace than your mate.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Castiel replied. “Dean has refused submission to anyone for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy,” the archangel defended airily. “Just said he needed it.”

“Could you two stop talking about Dean’s sex life and start helping me figure out how we’re gonna find him?” Sam snapped. All three heads turned. Sam couldn’t decipher the angels’ expressions, and Adam just looked confused. “What?”

“This cannot remain unaddressed,” Castiel said solemnly, not bothering to specify to whom he was speaking.

He didn’t need to. The archangel caught his meaning, gazing at his mate with veiled eyes. “I know.”

“What?” Sam insisted.

“You’re speaking Enochian,” Castiel informed him softly. “Fluently. And you understand what we’re saying.”

Sam visibly startled and Gabriel sighed. “We keep putting off the chat we need to have about the bond. Apparently, that’s no longer a good idea… not with you pulling things out of my head without even realizing you’re doing it.”

“Oh.” Sam’s voice managed to sound very small, which immediately drew Gabriel to his side.

“What the Hell’s going on?” Adam demanded.

“You boys got a bead on Dean yet?” Bobby shouted as he stamped down the stairs.

Taking a breath, Sam took Gabriel’s hand and squeezed it. “Everybody upstairs,” he urged softly in English, taking charge of the room. “Looks like explanation time.”

* * *

All things considered, Adam figured he might’ve liked his brothers if John had ever brought them around. Dean had been kind’ve a jackass about things, but he’d been acting out of a protective instinct, no matter how unwarranted Adam thought it might be. He had a feeling he and Dean had a lot in common. And Dean had suggested the meatloaf sandwiches earlier, which were always a brilliant idea.

Sam was gentler, more cerebral. His authority had a quieter edge than Dean’s, who seemed to echo John almost unconsciously, and Sam was genuinely concerned about how Adam was reacting to the whole mess. He’d called down another pair of angels; Adam remembered them from the resurrection field as well, and had reassured Adam they would have a chance to talk once the plan to find Dean was in place.

But he knew that Sam was supposed to be Lucifer’s vessel. Knew that Castiel and any other angels working with him were on the run from the angels that had brought Adam back to life. Adam wasn’t supposed to be here; wasn’t a part of this. A tight-knit rogue third faction bravely standing against the war that was coming at them from both sides was a highly romantic notion, and from what Zachariah had said, Dean and Castiel were making it even more so with their star-crossed affair. Apparently, so was Sam, who was obviously involved with the little amber-eyed angel who had an oral fixation that would’ve raised even Freud’s eyebrows.

Adam didn’t want any part of their little insurrection. Didn’t care why they were doing it or why Sam and Dean were so determined to bring him around to their way of thinking. He’d been in Heaven. Granted, there were a lot of things he’d wanted to do with his life, and it wasn’t very fair that he’d never had the chance, but that couldn’t be helped. Zachariah had told him that Michael, the First Archangel, needed him for the most important thing anyone would ever do. That he would be allowed to return to Heaven when it was over, and see his mother again there, no matter what happened. Michael had promised, Zachariah said. All Adam had to do was meet him and say ‘yes’.

Which meant that while everyone on ‘Team Free Will’ here was distracted, Adam had to get out, get away. He figured he’d need to go somewhere and pray for Michael to come to him. Michael would hear him if he prayed. He was an angel, after all; wasn’t that how these things worked?

It hadn’t taken long for everyone to explain the pieces they knew; the general consensus was that Dean must have gone to confront Zachariah alone over Adam and been taken to a place they called ‘the beautiful room’, where the angels would likely try and extract Adam’s location from Dean by whatever means necessary.

Why Dean would do such a thing when they didn’t even know one another didn’t make any sense, but it gave Adam all the more reason to slip away. If he went to Michael, or found a way to signal him, then the angels would have to let Dean go. They’d have what they wanted. Dean could be released unharmed; Adam would make sure Michael saw to that. He could ask Michael to leave them be, to make sure they got into Paradise. He just needed to get away while they were distracted…

Red-gold wings suddenly blocked his path out the kitchen door. “Going somewhere?”

Adam backed up, startled. The fierce green eyes of the taller angel bored down into him, and he couldn’t help the small frisson of fear that laced through him. “Just… out,” he offered quickly. “For some air.”

Mal sized him up quickly, obviously not believing him for an instant. One titian eyebrow quirked. “I’ll go with you. None of us should be alone just now, even with the wards around this place.”

“That’s okay; there’s no…”

Ignoring him, Mal took a step forward, pushing Adam back towards the study. “Gabriel?”

The name froze Adam before another protest could form. He turned to stare as the smaller angel stepped half away from the knot around Bobby’s desk. “Gabriel? As in the _archangel_ Gabriel?”

A grin cocked along that elfin face. “Present.”

“What are you doing here?” Adam demanded. “I mean, you’re an archangel; aren’t you supposed to be…?”

“Helping Michael kill Lucifer?” Gabriel’s expression never faltered; his eyes taking on a deadly gleam was the only warning anyone had that his patience was wearing thin. “You know _nothing_ about me, kid, and less about the situation. My brothers are bigger bags of dicks than you can imagine, and they’re not above concealing everything but the bare minimum facts to get what they need. It almost worked with Dean and Sam, and it will work on you if you don’t grow some brains fast.”

“Go easy on the boy,” Bobby warned, hoping to defuse what looked like a prime archangel temper gathering steam. “It ain’t his fault he don’t know what’s what.”

“Well, then let’s get him up to speed.”

Gabriel’s voice was like the edge of a knife. Sam couldn’t be sure how bad this was about to go… didn’t want it to make things worse. He started to reach out, to put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and draw off his anger, when Abariel flickered a glance at him. _Wait,_ those dark periwinkle eyes said. _Let him do this._

 _This_ was grace light, burning like a beacon, radiating from the core of the archangel’s vessel. It roiled around him, a palpable stormcloud of time and power, and wings not of flesh and down but lightening and eldritch flame flared while glory and trumpet-sound infused every word that seemed not to be spoken, but roared within their minds…

**“Before humans were made, Lucifer was Heylel… Light-Bringer of God… Michael, First of us All, was the Sun Prince, and Heylel the Morning Star… For aeons beyond counting there was nothing that came between them… and Heylel Loved Michael… only Father stood higher in his heart. The prophecy’s been etched into our bones for as long as anyone can remember, and the loss when he Fell was still beyond mortal comprehension.**

“For millennia, the battle has been held in abeyance; the Scions never quite in the right place at the right time. God withdrew from us; we can barely feel Him anymore. It has driven the others nearly to madness… I left after giving the Word to Mohammed… Father’s last Command of me… I left the mockery that Heaven had become and did what I was Created to do among the humans I had Sworn to my Father to Love…

“Then Mary Campbell met John Winchester. The Winchesters are scions of Michael; the Campbells are Lucifer’s. And Azazel, one of the Grigori, found Mary… found a weakness and exploited it and a deal was struck: the life of her lover for entry into her home in a decade’s time. She was granted ten years’ peace… a loving husband and two sons, scions of Michael and Lucifer both…

“But Mary was a born huntress. She tried to intervene when Azazel returned to enact his plan for Sam, and died in flame and agony for it. Her husband tried to save her, but it was far too late. What war couldn’t break, her death did. Seven years later, he met your mother: a moment of kindness, of solace in a shattered life. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, that she had been placed in his path because Fate might be a fickle bitch, but She doesn’t take chances. You were conceived to ensure that Michael’s line remained unbroken. A cousin of Campbell blood escaped the angels’ slaughter of the line… too much was at stake to leave it to chance.

“The understudies in place, the stage was set… what did it matter the blood spilled to get there? The dreams destroyed and the families, human and inhuman, rent apart to see it done? The only thing of importance was that Michael possess Dean, and Lucifer Sam, so that one brother could finally kill the other, and damn the cost in human lives or souls. It was always Dean and Sam’s Fate to be the True Vessels… always their destiny for one to be lost in a war that started before they were ever born…

“But Caine’s spirit in their bloodline is stronger than anyone reckoned. They have refused, time and again, to enact the curse bound in their blood, and I have chosen to aid them. We swore to Love humans as we Love our Father, and allowing them to become casualties in Michael and Heylel’s war is nothing but a betrayal of that vow. The cycle must be broken, forever, and your brothers have the will to see it done.”

Adam was pale, shaken, dumbstruck, still blocked from escape by Gamaliel’s steadfast presence. Castiel’s drawn face was still, as though he wasn’t sure how to react to seeing something he had not witnessed in an age. Abariel had moved to shield Bobby, whose mouth was hanging open.

Sam wasn’t sure how much Bobby had really ever put together; hadn’t realized himself that it was his mother’s family that were Lucifer’s vessels. But none of that was as important as the vibration coming from his mate, a sign that his grace and emotions were just barely contained. He reached out, placing a hand at the small of Gabriel’s back, intending to center him again…

Between one blink and the next, they were outside. Gabriel’s eyes were bright, too bright, his wings spread wide… ready to catch the wind… Sam reached out unthinking, caught his face and drew his mate up into a long, wet open kiss.

An offer of solace. A vent for the roil of fury and fear and foresight within.

“Don’t.” Gabriel’s voice was barely controlled, the need for an outlet straining at every seam of his being… he was ready to explode, to fly apart… he needed to run… “Sam, let me…”

Sam cast aside anything resembling caution and sank his fingers into those firestorm wings… “No.”

Gabriel’s control snapped.

Grace blasted out, overwhelming Sam’s defenses. Without knowing how they got there, Sam was naked on his hands and knees and Gabriel’s hands were threading tightly into his hair, tugging and twisting at the barbells through his nipples. Teeth left sharp bites across the axis of Sam’s shoulders as he reared back into Gabriel’s body, hips pressing hard against the searing brand of thick, hot flesh that needed inside him… his legs shifted further apart, buttocks grinding into Gabriel’s hips in blatant invitation. Gabriel took it, hands spreading Sam wide as he drove deep.

The grace roaring between them ignited, burning off the pain of being ridden raw, transmuting the slipcatchdrag until Sam was mindless from the flames under his skin, bucking back and dropping his hands to the Earth, catching himself and opening opening accepting everything Gabriel gave… whatever Gabriel needed from him was his… every muscle and bone seemed weightless, tethered only to hands and teeth and feathers and hard hard heat that sundered him from himself and burned away the darkness and made him whole…

Heat washed through him somewhere beneath the inferno of his mate’s grace, a guttural shout nearly lost between the archangel’s mouth and Sam’s ears already filled with thunder. Slowly, surreally, Sam could feel himself falling back from the height Gabriel had taken them to, his entire body absorbing the flow of comfort that came with liquid warmth flooding into him. A soft protest murmured past his lips as Gabriel pulled free far more slowly than he’d entered.

Slender hands were careful as they touched him, checking for damage unhealed by wild grace. Sam was too blissed out to care if he was hurt; Gabriel could put him to pieces and make him up new and Sam would still love him. Lost in the haze, gathered up into wings and warmth and love as the wildness of passion receded, Sam idly wondered if that was how Lucifer felt about Michael and their Father.

 _*I don’t know.*_ Gabriel answered the undirected thought, stroking Sam’s hair. Sam slowly became aware that Gabriel had brought them inside a car… a very familiar car… _*Part of me hopes so.*_

 _Are we in the Impala?_ Sam didn’t lift his head from Gabriel’s naked chest, his eyes closed in contentment. _Dean will kill you if he finds out._

 _*Are you gonna tell him?*_ Sam blushed and Gabriel chuckled, tucking Sam tighter into his wings and brushing a fond kiss over Sam’s temple. _*Didn’t think so.*_ A pause, the fingers in his hair never ceasing. _*Sam, you shouldn’t have done that. You should have just let me go…*_

 _No._ Sam nestled closer, tightening his hold. _When you hurt, I hurt. I’m not gonna just let you run and hide when you’re in pain, because I know what it’s like to run and have no one come after you. You’ve got me now, just like I’ve got you. This isn’t a one-way street, Gabriel. I’m not the only one in this relationship that’s needed someone to love them no matter what for way too long._

There was a stillness in his mate for a long moment in the aftermath. Sam finally glanced up, lifting away from the warm pillow of Gabriel’s flesh.

Crystal tears tracked down Gabriel’s cheeks, dripping from closed eyes like water weeping through stone walls. Sam shifted and Gabriel wrapped into him, shaking silent sobs of hurt and grief that neither human nor angel was meant to bear. Sam held him, murmuring comfort in Enochian, wrapping his mate in love and belonging until the storm finally ebbed away, leaving Gabriel wrung out and vulnerable against his mate. Safe to be vulnerable after centuries of being alone.

Angels weren’t meant to be cut off from love. From each other and their Father. Sam didn’t think any of them would ever know how much of what was happening had its ultimate root in God’s withdrawal from Heaven, His children left scrambling to wonder why, what they’d done, how to fix it. How everything might have been different if, even after Lucifer had been cast down, Michael or God had reached out to find him, to try and understand without censure, to bring him back without requiring obeisance and offering only compassion.

Whether God came back or not, Gabriel would never want for love again. Sam would give whatever he needed, submit in any way Gabriel wanted, dominate the angel if that’s what it took. Gabriel had given him everything he’d ever wanted: love, belonging, protection, respect. Sam would give his angel everything he needed right back.

“I love you,” Gabriel whispered. “You are out of your mind to take me on when I’m like that. I could have killed you.”

“You’d’ve fixed it,” Sam replied confidently. “You like sex too much to let me stay broken.” Gabriel snerked at that and Sam kissed his hair. “We should go back… we’ve gotta figure out where they took Dean.”

“It’s not a stationary place,” Gabriel advised. “And it’s not entirely part of this plane, so they don’t really have to care where they manifest it. Long as the space has a basic structure, they can put it in somebody’s backyard storage shed and no one would even notice until they opened the door.”

“So how do we find it?”

“Best way is to scry for it; it’s shielded almost as well as that little hideaway I used when we mated, but if we had something of Dean’s that was powerful enough, we could punch through.” Sam’s eyes drifted, an almost guilty, faraway look clouding them, and Gabriel sat up. “You have something, don’t you?”

“I think so,” Sam replied, shivers of desire tracking though him where Gabriel’s wing feathers rustled against his skin. He was hesitant to divulge it; he wasn’t supposed to have it. But it might be the only way. “Let’s get back.”

Gabriel snapped their clothes back in place, and Sam kissed him one last time, slow and loving, before opening the door.


	5. Crossing the Rubicon – Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for the warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Castiel startled when Sam’s hand emerged from his duffle bag with a familiar slender black cord dangling between his fingers. “Dean disposed of that,” he breathed. “After you returned with Joshua’s message.”

“I know.” Sam almost hesitantly offered the amulet to Bobby, who took it carefully. “I wasn’t letting it end up in a landfill.”

“Idjit,” Bobby snapped softly, mounting it on the scrying tripod. “What was he thinkin’, throwin’ something this powerful away?”

“That it was worthless because our Father doesn’t want to be found.” Castiel watched as the amulet, now hanging over a large map, began circling slowly. “That may have been an overly-hasty assessment.”

“I’ll say.” Gabriel kicked back in one of the corner chairs, snapping a giant bag of Twizzler’s onto the table nearby and offering one to Castiel. “Hang out, bro. This could take a while.”

Eyeing the candy almost suspiciously, Castiel sat with him nonetheless.

It took over a day. The amulet was powerful, but the entire planet wasn’t precisely a minute search radius and Heavenly shields were working against them. Despite his outward calm, Castiel’s anxiety for his mate was a palpable thing, growing like a hydra with each passing moment.

Gabriel sent Abariel and Gamaliel back to London; they wouldn’t be able to speed up the process any more than he or Castiel would, and he wanted Aziraphale’s haven shielded as well as possible. They were under strict orders to bring the Guardian of the Eastern Gate to Bobby’s as soon as it was done. Worry for them was gnawing at the edges of his calm, and he alternated between compulsively nibbling on whatever confections he felt like snapping to hand and ignoring the entire concept of food for hours at a time.

No one slept.

Adam finally broke under the tension, unused to such situations and uneasy after Gabriel’s earlier revelations. “Why did he even go confront Zachariah in the first place? They don’t want him anymore and he didn’t want to do it to begin with. What’s the point?”

“He was trying to protect you,” Sam replied softly, his eyes on the amulet as it circled a map of California. Every time the amulet had fallen, it had narrowed their search field. Gabriel had conjured ever more detailed maps as the search progressed, but even his mood was beginning to wear down under the strain. “You’re our brother. That’s how Dean is.”

“But we’re not even family!” Adam snapped. “I didn’t even know about you until after I was dead. Why would he care-”

“Because that is who Dean is,” Castiel snarled softly. “Does no one in your family ever _listen?!_ ”

Adam blinked as Sam startled. Castiel’s fists were clenched, white-knuckled with rage. “Cas…”

“Dean mourned you,” Castiel continued. “He discerned that your father’s every effort was to protect you and his father’s final charge to him was to protect his brother. In Dean’s mind, that extended to you the moment he knew you existed. That you had died before he even learned your name was of no importance; he viewed your death as his failure. Your resurrection his chance to get it right. He will give everything to save you from the fate intended for him, and he will do it because he believes it to be the right thing to do.”

A vaguely greenish pale cast settled over Adam’s face. “They’ll kill him if he doesn’t tell them where I am, won’t they?”

“If that was my only concern, then we would only have to wait until it was done.” Pain lanced out from those lapis eyes, cutting through the air like a thousand tiny blades. “I would keep his soul and mend his flesh and it would be as if it never happened.”

“It puts a chill in my blood, how casual he says that,” Bobby muttered.

“Try living it every day for a year and a half,” Sam replied. “Oddly enough, you almost get used to the idea.” He then raised his voice a little, knowing the angels could’ve heard a mouse whisper in the next room but wanting to be sure he commanded Adam’s attention. “Then what _are_ they gonna do, Cas?”

Stillness hung in the room, so heavy it seemed to burn. The amulet swished in the air under its own power. Adam fidgeted; he was only nineteen: little more than a child in so many ways, not yet beyond the fear of things that cast shadows in the night.

Sam was as still as the air. As still as the angels. Nothing reflected back across the bond from them; only silence profound enough to scream. Gabriel’s golden eyes held his own, and something old and terrible gazed at him. Not the warmth of the fun-loving, sex-in-pants archangel. Not the mischief of the Trickster Loki. Something as immutable as the bones of the Earth, larger than the deep black beyond the farthest star.

“There’s a way to break it.” Horror rushed in on the heels of comprehension. Sam couldn’t tear his eyes from Gabriel, knowing even as he said it that it was the truth. That they were words his mate couldn’t bring himself to say. “There’s a way to break the mating bond.”

“And Zachariah will tell Dean how to do it.” Castiel’s voice all but buckled under the weight of words giving painful shape to reality. “No doubt with some pleasure.”

“Cas…” Sam’s body carried him forward and to his knees before his friend… his brother… “Dean loves you. I know he does.”

Their eyes met. That same ageless depth reflected back at Sam, but where Gabriel had been power, Castiel was the Abyss, echoing and endless. “I have no doubt of that, Sam. But he will break it anyway.”

“What makes you think that?” Adam asked, voice weak. Those eyes swiveled to meet his, and Adam nearly quailed. Sam felt a wave of sympathy for his brother. No matter what Adam might have learned from his death or in Heaven, he wasn’t ready for this.

“Dean was shaped in soul, mind and body to be Michael’s Perfect Vessel,” Castiel replied. His gravel voice was flat, tired. Almost hopeless. “They are more alike than Dean would ever care to admit. You have no understanding of how deeply Michael loved Heylel… even now, after everything, Lucifer is still Michael’s beloved in ways no human can conceive. And Michael is willing to sacrifice that which he loves second only to our Father because he believes it is the right thing to do.”

That lapis gaze dropped to his lap, watching sightlessly as Sam’s large, warm hands slid to cover his own; a gesture of comfort that nearly brought tears to Castiel’s eyes. After everything Sam had been through, the parts he knew and those he didn’t that Castiel had played, the simple kindnesses Sam was willing to extend were a miracle made flesh. “He won’t,” Sam assured Castiel gently. “I can’t believe he would abandon you, Cas. Dean’s never given up on anyone he loves… he wouldn’t give up on me even when he swore he would… when he swore he had. He _won’t_ give you up.”

Castiel gave a worried, vulnerable smile.

Before anyone could say anything else, there was an audible thump. All heads turned. “Van Nuys,” Bobby declared softly. “It’s someplace in Van Nuys.”

“We need a street map.” Sam was getting to his feet as he spoke, as if he was about to fetch one from the corner store rather than asking Gabriel for one. “Narrow it down even more.”

“No, we don’t,” Gabriel replied quickly. “Put me and Cas within smiting distance of the city and we can home in.”

“ _You’re_ not going.”

The response was automatic, damned near autocratic and out of Sam’s mouth before he could think better of it. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed to furious amber slits.

Castiel elected to vanish with Bobby and Adam to minimum safe distance.

“What did you just say?” Gabriel asked, his tone flat with barely-constrained wrath. “ ‘Cause even with supernaturally _perfect_ hearing, I can’t have gotten that right.”

“It’s not safe for you there,” Sam started. “Zachariah will be there; Michael, too, probably. And who knows how many others.”

“And _I’m_ the one in danger?” Gabriel’s voice touched an octave that cracked glass. “Am I or am I not the archangel in this little band of Merry Men?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Arch- _fucking_ -angel.” Gabriel’s wings manifested with a muffled boom, glowing prismatic white. “Seat at the Left Hand of God, Guardian of the Watchtower of the West, Governance of the Moon, Prince of the Cherubim, ArchHerald of the Lord and Trumpeter of the Second Goddamned Coming! I judged the Nephilim, fought in _both_ Angelic Wars, destroyed Sodom and set a curse upon Caine the likes of which would curl your damn hair permanently! I was there when Dad set this rock spinning-”

“And you’re my mate!” Sam snapped back. “You’re the best weapon we have and the love of my life and I don’t want Michael within a thousand miles of you! Bad enough he and the others will know you’re still alive the instant they see me; at least if you stay behind you’ll still be hidden so they can’t just kill you for it!”

Gabriel’s eyes went wide. Sam didn’t know what he projected and didn’t care. He only knew what was replaying in his own mind…

_Jessica burning, agony written across her innocent face… Madison’s eyes, fearful and forgiving, and the blast of the gun that snuffed out their light, trigger pulled by his own hand… His mother’s spirit destroying itself to keep him safe… His father crumpled and lifeless on the floor… gone to his grave believing Sam would one day become a monster…_

_Dean… intubated, beaten, too pale, too cold… barely hanging on… screaming as the Hellhound clawed him apart…_

_So many. Too many. Bodies littering the ground at his feet, their blood on his hands, and all his power couldn’t save them…_

The reverie was broken by the taste of saline. Lips were warm and gentle on his cheeks, his eyes, soothing hands stroking his arms, cupping his jaw. He opened tear-burned eyes to see Gabriel’s face, anger gone and empathy suffusing the sharp, beautiful features. “Sam… Sam, it’s okay. It won’t be like that, if something goes wrong…”

“I can’t, Gabriel.” Sam reached up and took one of Gabriel’s wrists in each hand, holding his mate back just an inch. Close enough to breathe in the scent of lilies exuded by his mate, but far enough to resist the urge to just crush that clever mouth against his own. “I need you here, safe, ready to move in case this goes south. I need you to hold the line… just in case…” _In case they take both me and Cas out… in case Dean says yes… in case…_

Sam felt the moment Gabriel gave ground, the softening of that stubborn jaw and the huffing sigh through his sharp nose. “Okay… okay, gorgeous. I’ll play rear guard on this one. But you’d better come back undamaged, or all bets are off.”

The only answer that made sense was to press his lips to Gabriel’s. To kiss away the last resistance and revel in the way the archangel made him feel alive… the way Gabriel sank those nimble fingers up into his hair and twisted his body against Sam’s, rubbing like a cat and making tiny sounds of need in the back of his throat… the way the muscles of his slim back flexed under Sam’s hands as Sam pulled him in… the slow burn of desire that was always between them flaring…

“We can’t,” Gabriel finally panted against his mouth. It took a monumental effort and they could both feel it; Sam’s forehead leaned against Gabriel’s as they both tried to regain their equilibrium. “Things to do. Muttonheaded brothers to save. Time’s wasting.”

Sam stole another kiss, grinning. “I’m gonna make it worth your while later.” Gabriel quirked an eyebrow and Sam’s grin edged into a smirk. “I’ve been doing _research_.”

Gabriel let out a low groan that was half dread, half base lust. “One way or another, you’re gonna be the death of me, Samuel Winchester… but what a way to go.”

* * *

Hours passed. Days, maybe. Dean felt a bit like Persephone; if he ate or slept or drank or even sat down, he wouldn’t be allowed to leave. He could only wait, only hope that he could find some kind of way out.

He’d plunged in without a real plan. What had he been expecting, coming here? That Michael would call the whole thing off if he proved stubborn enough? Or maybe that the archangel would appear to him again and they could talk things over like men?

Sam was gonna kill him. Gabriel would skin him alive; it’d be a death he probably hadn’t tried during the Broward County incident. Castiel…

Dean didn’t like thinking about how pissed off Castiel was going to be with him.

Even in the space between worlds, his body grew too tired to hold him up. Reluctantly, he settled on a couch, trying to stay awake by gazing into the mirror beside him. It went on forever, that mirror, reflecting and reflecting, smaller and smaller, down into a tiny pinprick of infinity, where Dean was indistinguishable from all else around him. He was one with it and it with him, a blur of color in the deep black.

“More perceptive than your usual capacity.” Dean shot to his feet at the sound of that supercilious voice. Zachariah was across the room, seated on a high-backed chair and looking like the master of all he surveyed. All the more irritating to Dean was that the sonuvabitch probably was, when you got down to it. “There’s a way out of this for you, you know. A solution not even Castiel would tell you about.”

“It involve you, me, a Super-Soaker full of holy oil and a lighter?” Dean retorted acidly. “ ‘Cause that I’m all about that plan.”

“It involves you accepting your destiny, you arrogant little maggot.” Dean went still; Zachariah smiled. “Good. I have your attention.”

“It won’t let him,” Dean croaked. “The bond-”

“Can be broken.” Zachariah was smiling his smug, superior, triumphant smile. The smile that said ‘God has left the building’. “You can break it, Dean: set Castiel free of a bond that you know shouldn’t exist between you. You can give Michael consent and spare your littlest brother. We’ll let him be; he and Sam both.”

“Until you burn the world to a cinder,” Dean reminded him sharply. Inside, his mind reeled at the potential this opened up. He could keep them safe, give them time to stop Lucifer. Sam could keep going; with Cas and Gabriel by their side, his brothers would find a way to stop it; all he needed to do was fight Michael the way Bobby had fought that demon… keep him distracted with getting his Vessel fully under his control…

“You think Michael wouldn’t guarantee their clemency, Dean? The Adversary isn’t the only one who can make promises,” Zachariah reminded him. “Heaven, Dean. Eternal peace for you and your intrepid little cadre.” The cruelty in his smile gleamed keener than the sharpest blade. “You remember Hell, Dean… you remember what I showed you. Do you really want them to suffer like that? Is keeping a bond you were never meant to have worth the risk of that, especially with your ever-increasing chances of abject failure?”

The words drove home, burrowing insidiously into Dean’s mind and fueling his doubts like napalm on a brushfire. Zachariah had a point: he didn’t deserve Castiel. Never had. And the bond, however much Castiel loved him, had been forced between them.

Castiel would never have consummated the bond if Lucifer hadn’t intervened. Because Castiel knew, just as Zachariah kept saying, that they weren’t supposed to have this. Dean’s destiny was to be used and cast aside. His fate had never included happily-ever-after. Especially with someone who was capable of the kind of love that Castiel was.

“ _If_ I was gonna do it,” Dean hedged, tamping down the urge to peel the angel’s smarmy face and unctuous smile right off his head, “what would I have to do?”

Zachariah leaned back, eyes glinting in undisguised triumph. “In Michael’s presence, you renounce your mate. Forswear the mating bond, and unreservedly accede to Michael’s prior claim.”

Dean snorted. “Just like that? Just say ‘I don’t anymore’ and it’s gone?”

Zachariah was still smiling. He never seemed to stop; it merely changed intensity of malice and superiority. It morphed even as Dean watched into a heartless curl of that thin mouth that seemed to draw all hope from the air. The cold burn of that smile almost drove a cry of pain from Dean’s lips. “You have to _mean_ it, Dean. From the depths of your soul, you have to truly no longer wish to be Castiel’s mate.

“Now I know what you’re thinking,” Zachariah went on, seeing the stricken bruises that Dean’s eyes had become. “But no one would ask you to say that you don’t love Castiel. He’s our brother, Dean; we love him even now, even with his rebellion and his choice of mates. All you must do is renounce your desire to be mated to him. Be willing to put your higher purpose, your True Destiny, above the comforts of the flesh. Because that’s what you’re really thinking about when you think of being mated to Castiel, isn’t it? Not the _eternity_ that he would be tied to a mortal soul, condemned to watch you wither and die, or him being tied to a single Heaven. You’re thinking of mortal pleasures, sacks of meat getting sweaty and grinding together in ways no angel was ever meant to sully themselves with.”

The angel watched as Dean drew in on himself, watched the soul within dim with doubt and guilt. Dean was breaking, and the rewards Zachariah would receive for delivering an obeisant, acquiescent Sword would be lavish beyond measure. “Just think about it, Dean. Think about what saying yes means. Is keeping something you never deserved really worth giving up the chance to end this? To ensure Lucifer can never make your precious Sammy bleed until he gives in?”

“Enough!” Dean snapped, suddenly sick with it all. He couldn’t let Zachariah know that Sam was safe from Lucifer because of Gabriel; the archangel was still off Heaven’s radar, and they were working to preserve that for as long as they could. “Get outta my sight.”

“Okay,” Zachariah agreed, holding up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “Okay… but I’ll be back, Dean. Your time is limited, as is Michael’s patience. Think about what I’ve said.”

This time, when the flutter signaled the angel’s withdrawal, Dean closed his eyes and wished, just once, that life would quit trying to screw him out of having someone to love. Exhaustion crept up, and Dean drifted into a fitful sleep, tears wetting his lashes and his heart bleeding over a choice that he knew he couldn’t avoid for much longer.


	6. Crossing the Rubicon – Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for the warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Abariel and Gamaliel hadn’t yet returned. Sam didn’t like it; without the other two seraphim nearby, it felt like they would be spread too thin, leaving them vulnerable. But he and Castiel couldn’t delay Operation Rescue Dean From His Self-Sacrificing Streak any longer.

They’d agreed that Bobby should stay behind as well; he hadn’t been a target of either angels or demons since his paralysis, and if Gabriel needed anything, Bobby was experienced enough to be of help. Sam and Cas would fly Angel Express to Van Nuys and try to fight their way to Dean before Dean either gave up Adam’s location or said yes to breaking the bond and becoming Michael’s Vessel.

Adam had watched their preparations with large blue eyes and a silent, serious face. Sam couldn’t guess what Adam was thinking and wished he had time to talk to his brother, to find out how much of the man the ghoul had echoed, how much of their family’s legacy had bred true despite his isolation from them. But Dean couldn’t afford the delay and he wouldn’t ask Cas to accept one. Family bonding would have to wait.

Just as he and Cas were about to leave, Adam appeared at Sam’s side. A satchel was slung over his shoulder, obviously full. “I’m coming.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “Like Hell you are!”

There was a stubborn set to Adam’s jaw that reminded Sam of his father and brother far too well for his liking. “I was premed before I got eaten and I’ve been certified in first aid, CPR and life-guarding by our local EMTs since I was fourteen. If you and Castiel are busy with angels and Dean’s wounded, I can handle it. He’s there because of me. I’m coming.”

Gabriel watched Sam waver, wanting to order Adam to stay behind but seeing the logic in his accompanying them. “Sam…” He watched those hazel eyes snap to his own, saw how they pleaded for his help. “Command decision time, gorgeous,” he said softly in Enochian. “You can’t always keep people out of the line of fire.”

“It could be a trap,” Sam prevaricated. “They could just be holding Dean hoping I show up with Adam in tow. Taking him could play right into their hands.”

“It could,” Gabriel agreed. “Any way they can win, they’ll take. But it’s your call… just like me staying behind was.”

It was a reminder, subtle but effective, that Sam was in charge of this plan. That he’d made a decision both strategic and emotional when it came to leaving Gabriel behind. Sam still hesitated, uncertain about assuming the authority that had always been Dean’s, even when a part of him did so automatically.

 _*You’re a scion of Michael and Lucifer both, gorgeous,*_ Gabriel reminded him silently. _*Command is written in your bones, just like it is in Dean’s. You can’t let yourself be afraid of your birthright just because you’ve always had more of Lucifer in your personality than Michael. In the end, they’re both there, in both of you, and it’s how you use that that matters.*_

For a long moment, Sam held Gabriel’s gaze, making a mirror of bright amber eyes against the conflict in his heart. He wasn’t used to being responsible for other people; usually, Sam was only alpha on a hunt when he was hunting by himself. When Dean was with him, Sam had always let Dean lead, arguing the plan until he brought Dean around to his way of thinking if he disagreed.

But Dean wasn’t the brother staring up at him now, waiting for his acceptance with that mulish set to his jaw that seemed to be part of the Winchester genetic code. Dean was in need of rescue, the innocent rather than the hunter or hunted. And Adam wanted to help.

It was a start.

“You only move in when I tell you to,” Sam finally ordered, fixing his younger brother with cool green-flecked eyes. “You’re not a hunter and I don’t have time to measure how good you are in a fight. You get Dean and get out of there; I don’t care what’s happening in that room. Understand?”

Adam nodded silently.

Not caring about what anyone else thought, Sam stepped close, bent and brushed a soft kiss over Gabriel’s mouth. “I’ll come back,” he promised quietly.

“I know.” Gabriel didn’t want to let him go; knew he needed to. Greater powers than his had attempted to keep the Winchester brothers from trying to save one another, and all had failed. “Go, before you pick up any more passengers for this little road trip.”

Sam nodded. Castiel, silent as death during the exchange, stepped between Sam and Adam. _*Do not fear, brother,_ he assured Gabriel silently. _*I will make sure Sam has a clear path to Dean. As much danger to our mates as I can prevent, I will. I promise.*_

Gabriel nodded in response, and with a brush of Castiel’s fingers against the mortals’ temples, they vanished through time and space.

* * *

It was the decision that made sense. Strategically, Dean couldn’t ignore that. Sam was prevented from being forced, and even if Sam was told how the bond could be broken, Dean didn’t believe for a second that Sam would do it. His little brother needed the balance, the grounding that Gabriel gave him too much. If it was only love at stake, he wouldn’t be as sure, but Sam recognized the stability that Gabriel gave him, insulating Sam against the darkness that Azazel and Lilith and Ruby and Lucifer had all worked so hard to bring out of him. And Dean knew Gabriel needed Sam on a level that no one would guess without the bindings that wove between them.

Dean loved Castiel. There was no question of that. But he wasn’t in nearly as much danger as Sam was. Had gone without anyone to ground him for most of his life. He’d be all right, and so would Castiel. And it wasn’t like they couldn’t be together without the bond.

Adam had been resurrected to be used, and it had been Zachariah doing the talking. Michael had made personal promises to Dean beyond not leaving him a gibbering vegetable when their task was completed. Much as he hated to think about it, something old and powerful in his bones told him that Michael hadn’t been lying. If Michael made him a promise, he would keep it.

Without Sam to act as Lucifer’s vessel, Michael would jump at the chance to have his Perfect Vessel in the final fight; it would be an advantage the archangel couldn’t resist, with how obsessed he was to follow God’s Last Command to his Firstborn son. That meant Dean could set the price, and Michael would pay it.

He could ensure the safety of those he loved. Bobby and Lisa and Ben and Cassie. Sam and Adam. Gabriel and his seraphs. He could insist upon clemency for Castiel. Full pardon, total immunity from punishment. He could demand that Michael allow him and Castiel to be together when it was all over.

They would all be safe. His sacrifice would keep them safe. And ultimately, he was sure Castiel would understand. His mate might hate him for it for a while, but when all was done and they were together again, unharried by Heaven and unshadowed by Destiny, Castiel would forgive him. They could get past it.

But Dean felt guilty enough to need to tell Castiel the decision was made before Michael was the one doing the talking.

Slowly, he opened the bond again, seeking Castiel. It wouldn’t be easy to say, but Dean loved Castiel too much. He would make himself say it…

_Swords flashing. Flickers of power, movements faster than the eye could see. Castiel was nearby. Just outside the boundary. He’d engaged one of the cherubim guarding the room. Dean’s heart froze as the blade came close… so close…_

_A rush of strength. Of pure will. Castiel reversed the blade and drove it down, through the cherub’s chest, grace flashing bright as it died._

_Others. Four more, closing, circling like wolves ready to avenge a fallen packmate. Dean wanted to shout, to warn him. Castiel stood, wary but unafraid, watching them with fierce eyes as the noose drew imperceptibly tighter._

_“What are you waiting for?” he snarled, a low growl of impatience as he threw down the cherub’s blade. Dean’s entire being surged in panic as it clattered, fear washing through him like ice. **“Come on.”**_

_The noose closed. They were advancing, blades scything, ready to strike… Dean shouted a warning as Castiel tore open his shirt and slammed his palm against his heart…_

Nothing in Hell had prepared him. Nothing could have.

Magnesium flame burning bone deep, searing away flesh. Dean’s body crumpled into itself as the fire refused to die, consuming and consuming and consuming until there felt like nothing left and still it burned down through his soulmindbodygracewingsFatherhelpmepleaseithurtsithurtsohGodit _burnspleasestopmakeitstopPLEASE_ …

Hands pulling him up. Dean screamed, didn’t know he’d already been screaming, the contact driving through him like broken glass as he was pulled to his feet, pulled back to himself by the sound of a panicked mortal voice calling his name. Slow, so slow, Dean’s vision cleared enough to see the face pinched with fear above his own.

Blue eyes: not hazel, not blue enough. Blonde hair, not brown or black. “Adam…”

“We’ve got to get you out of here,” Adam insisted. “Can you walk?”

Flame still ripped across every inch of his flesh, but the burn was fading, finally dimming… flickering low and insidious… emptiness echoed in its wake, hollowing him out until he would shatter like brittle clay beneath Adam’s fingertips… realization dawning with unflinching horror… “Cas…?”

“Gone.”

Dean’s vision swam as both he and Adam’s heads shot up. Zachariah stood before them, his smile cruel. Dean shoved Adam behind him, teeth slamming down on the wrenched sound of pain that clawed up in his throat. “You sonuva-”

“Now I’ve been patient,” the archangel continued, almost as if Dean hadn’t spoken. “This assignment’s taught me patience all over again; not easy, mind you, for a creature that’s been alive since before the Creation of this insipid mudball.” One hand lifted, opening in an almost blossoming motion. Adam stumbled away from Dean’s back; Dean half-spun in time to see blood choking up through his youngest brother’s lips. “But even Heaven’s patience has its limits, Dean. You felt the pain of Castiel’s self-banishment? Imagine what it will feel like when we carve out his grace a piece at a time.”

A flicker of movement. Dean couldn’t even manage to shout before Sam was at Zachariah’s back, nearly on top of him, the bloody cherubic short sword Castiel had discarded poised to strike…

Zachariah turned, one hand flashing up…

Sam was stumbling as lightening burst between them, flinging Zachariel back. There was the faintest shimmer of bright teal wings as Zachariel righted himself and stared at Sam. “Impossible…”

“Dean, get Adam and get out of here.” Sam held the cherubic blade low, never taking his eyes from Zachariel. “Hurry.”

“How?” Zachariel demanded. Threads of fury cracked in his voice, betraying the creature beneath the pale, paunched flesh. “It’s not possible…”

Ignoring him, Sam edged towards his brothers, blade still canted in threat. Dean forced himself through the pain, forced himself to move… to think beyond the hollow pain that still burned across the bond and reach for Adam…

“Gabriel?” Zachariel’s voice was incredulous. “You’re mate-bound to Gabriel?”

When Sam didn’t answer, merely sneered, Zachariel responded with pain.

How he got past Gabriel’s shield, Dean didn’t know. He hadn’t known there was a shield to get around until it was Zachariel that went flying back instead of Sam on the first salvo. But now Sam was blasted off his feet, a scream tearing free as he was flung like a rag doll across the room, his limp form tumbling to the floor after slamming into a wall with stunning force.

“Leave them alone!” Dean snapped. It should have been a threat, or a demand. Pain and fear and bone-deep weariness made it into a plea, nearly begging. Dean found he didn’t care. “Dammit, Zachariah!”

“ **You choose now, Dean** ,” Zachariel thundered. Shaken by the revelation that Gabriel was Sam’s mate, his angelic nature was showing at the edges. “Either you forsake your bond to the Apostate and fulfill the Destiny you were made for, or you let your baby brother fulfill it for you. Either way, you will make a decision, or your last moments of existence will be filled with their dying screams.”

For a long, agonizing moment, Dean gazed at his brothers. Sam, unconscious across the room, vulnerable despite the potency of his mate’s protection. Adam, who should never have been part of this, choking on his own blood, in agony Dean knew only too well.

Castiel had torn himself to atoms trying to save him. And Dean had felt every excruciating moment of it.

“I’ll do it.”

The words were so soft, Dean himself couldn’t be sure he’d spoken them aloud. But he had and he wouldn’t take them back. It was the right thing to do, the right words to say. This was too important.

Whatever answer Zachariel had been expecting, however, the quiet declaration seemed to take him by surprise. His head quirked to one side, one eyebrow lifting. “What was that?”

“Okay, yes!” Dean had to force the words out. “The answer’s yes.” From somewhere on the floor, Adam moaned Dean’s name. Zachariel paused, wary of a deception so close to the end. Dean’s temper finally snapped as tears burned in his eyes, his throat as raw as if he’d downed a bottle of rotgut whiskey. “Do you hear me!? Call Michael down, you bastard.”

Dean was still shielding; it was a natural instinct for him. Zachariel gauged him carefully, unwilling to risk an upset when he finally appeared to have won. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

“Do I look like I’m lying?” Dean snapped. “You said he has to be here; now get him here.”

The smug smile firmly back in place, Zachariel turned his back and lifted his head. Dean couldn’t watch him, casting his gaze between his brothers. Adam was coiled around himself, still coughing up blood. Sam was starting to come around, the pupils of his hazel eyes contracted to pinpricks from pain. Gabriel wasn’t crashing through the door, which meant that either he couldn’t sense Sam because of their location or Sam had convinced him to sit things out no matter what. Either way, Dean could see in those eyes that Sam had put it together. Could see the betrayed questioning, the inability to comprehend why Dean would be willing to agree.

Zachariel was still chanting, and Dean let his face relax. Let his brother see past the pain and the fear. And then he winked.

Sam’s expression flickered, the edge leaving his face, and Dean pulled his attention back to the archangel that had just finished the Enochian summoning.

“He’s coming.” Zachariel’s voice was filled with quiet relief, victorious satisfaction.

Fear dropped away. Pain seemed remote, beneath his notice. The still-smoldering embers along the mate-bond were all that remained, flares of heat that reminded Dean of unassuming grace, unyielding devotion. Strength and love that refused to be broken no matter what battered against its walls. “Of course, I have a few conditions.”

Zachariel spun, startled at the temerity of such a statement. “What?”

“A few people whose safety you have to guarantee before I say yes.” He could feel Michael’s presence, a shimmering in his blood, reacting to the bond still firmly in place. Michael wanted him… power surged like a maelstrom, hungry, beseeching…

The last time Dean had been in the presence of the archangel that wanted under his skin, Michael had been using his father as a vessel. He’d felt the tie then, too, but it was nothing like this… then, it had been muted, his father’s flesh acting almost like a buffer between them. This was raw… unencumbered… a pull on his soul… a connection deep as Time itself…

It nearly staggered Dean to feel it, to fully sense it for the first time. But it couldn’t gain a hold. Couldn’t sink deep enough to be irresistible. Remnants of Castiel’s shattered grace melded with his own will to refuse, keeping him centered, staving off the draw created by the connection of angel to vessel.

He understood in that moment the fear and awe and almost-yearning in Sam’s voice when Lucifer had risen from beneath their feet nearly a year ago. Knew how badly he’d underestimated his younger brother’s strength to have resisted all this time.

Had no idea how long either of them would have resisted if it weren’t for the angels in their lives.

If the internal struggle was in any way noticeable, Zachariel missed it in his moment of triumph. He merely shrugged as he turned to fully face Dean, spreading his arms in a magnanimous gesture. “Sure… make a list.”

“But most of all?” Something flared deep within, a spark from his mate that caught against his soul and burned, bright as the evening star. “Michael can’t have me until he _disintegrates you_.”

Disbelief. Incredulity. The arrogance slipped just a bit as Zachariel sensed too late that Dean was far from broken under the weight of Heaven’s mandates. “What did you say?”

“I said that before Michael gets one piece of this sweet ass? He has to turn you into a piece of charcoal.” The spark flared brighter, warding off the tidal pull of Michael’s looming presence within Dean’s blood, burning away everything but his will. His free will, and his love for Castiel.

A short bark of laughter as Zachariel held his gaze, unwilling to believe that Dean might actually be serious… or that there was a possibility that Michael might agree. “You really think Michael’s going to go for that?”

“Who’s more important to him now?” Dean shot back. Confidence filled every pore, doubt far behind him. He had his proof that the mating bond would not allow another angel to claim him. Proof that the connection between him and Castiel, for all that its completion had been forced between them, wasn’t just another weapon in the angelic arsenal against Sam’s and his will to resist. “You… or me?”

The veneer finally broke. Zachariel closed the distance between them and hauled Dean forward by his lapels. “Now you listen to me,” he hissed. “You are nothing but a maggot inside a worm’s ass. You think you’re something special because you’re the Vessel? Because a _minor_ seraph was foolish enough to mate with you in violation of command from the Highest of the Host? You’re nothing. Do you know who I am after I deliver you to Michael?”

“Expendable,” Dean spat. Fury roared through him at the insult to his mate, but Dean stayed his hand… stayed just a moment longer… something beyond Michael was coming, reaching for him, edging at his consciousness…

Another derisive chuckle. “Michael’s not going to kill me.”

“Maybe not,” Dean conceded.

The muscles of his hand were closing before Dean realized there was something solid in place for him to grip. The hilt of a sword, light and warm as Castiel’s grace. Instinct bred through his blood for aeons surged at the contact with angelic steel. “ **But I will.** ”

Before Zachariel could react, Dean yanked half a step back. The blade scalloped effortlessly in his hand as he swung up, ramming it through Zachariel’s jaw and into his brain.


	7. Crossing the Rubicon – Part Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for the warnings, notes, disclaimers and song list.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Blinding light from within and without. Zachariel’s dying gurgle was drowned by the high sustained note that announced Michael was drawing nearer by the moment. Dean couldn’t look away… couldn’t tear his eyes from the death throes of Grace…

The blast threw him back, the sword in his hand yanking free. Dean managed to right himself in time to see the prone form of Zachariel against the opposite wall, teal-streaked charcoal etching the image of wings behind the body of the angel’s vessel. Without thinking about how he’d gotten it or where he was putting it, Dean sheathed the sword across his back and scrambled to Adam’s side. His youngest brother was rising from the floor, obviously feeling the same compulsion that tried to grip at Dean as Michael came inexorably closer. “Can you walk?”

“Yeah…” Adam felt the connection… the link between the angel descending and his own flesh… from all that he’d learned, Dean was feeling the same thing… even Sam, to a lesser extent.

Dean had been given a chance to give in to this. To forsake his lover and give over to the yearning in his blood for the union between soul and grace… human flesh and angelic form… and he’d resisted. He’d played the angels perfectly, refusing to give in. Unable to accept that they wouldn’t all walk away. Dean was Michael’s scion. Fate’s avatar. Stronger than any immortal had predicted. Maybe even strong enough to rewrite Destiny.

Adam wasn’t that strong. He knew it. He was the understudy. Second chair. He wasn’t designed to be the ultimate Vessel. He’d never been meant for this.

But he was in this now.

“Get Sam.” Adam pushed Dean at his brother, who was having trouble hauling himself up after Zachariel had smashed at him with nearly his full might. Dean went without thinking, pulling Sam up and nearly carrying him towards the door.

He didn’t realize until he was nearly across the threshold that Adam wasn’t moving.

Shoving Sam across, Dean turned and started for his youngest brother… the brother he had a second chance to protect… “Adam, come on!”

“You go!” Adam shouted over the rising scream of Michael’s descent. “I’ll hold him off!”

“Adam, you can’t!” Dean reached his brother’s side, grabbing at his shoulders to try and drag him out. “He’ll make you-”

Sky blue eyes were calm as Adam took one of Dean’s wrists in each hand, pulling them away from his shoulders and holding Dean back. “Dean, let me do this.”

Dean stopped, staring, uncomprehending. “No…”

“I’m counting on you to save my ass, big brother” Adam replied, thrusting Dean back towards the door. “And when you do, you owe me a beer.” Dean hesitated and Adam stepped into him, giving him the hardest shove he could. “Go! Before he gets here!”

One measured look passed between them. In that instant, in the fierce glow of Michael’s incandescent grace beginning to overtake the room, Dean could see his father in this youngest son…

“Go.”

Hating himself even as he did it, Dean obeyed, turning and flinging himself across the threshold as the doors slammed closed behind him.

Sam was scrambling to his feet, denial clawing up out of his throat. “We have to get him out of there-”

“He’s giving us a chance,” Dean snapped, pulling Sam back. “We gotta let him do it; come on!”

They cleared the threshold of the warehouse as the persistent throbbing pull of Michael on Dean’s blood finally began to fade. Sam was weeping openly as he shouted for Gabriel across the bond, falling into his mate’s arms the moment they were at Bobby’s. Dean stumbled to the couch, deaf to the questions Bobby shouted at him.

The pounding compulsion of Michael in his blood was gone. But the bond to Castiel was still a hollow, echoing void. He couldn’t feel his mate across it.

He couldn’t find Castiel.

The thought caught and held, adrenaline still pumping hard and exacerbating the panic it caused, until Dean’s eyes were wide and he couldn’t breathe, scrambling across the bond in a desperate need to find his mate… he couldn’t find Cas… needed to find Castiel…

“Calm down, my dear.” A soft, almost diffident British voice broke through the haze of panic setting in. Two gentle hands touched his temples, and something cool washed through him, settling his body and taking the edge off the turmoil in his mind. “He hasn’t died; he’s only scattered a bit. With a little effort, we can put him right again; don’t you fear.”

Dean’s vision focused. The man crouching before him was an angel: wings as white as new-fallen snow framed his broad shoulders, a face that was pure kindness and gentility beneath vaguely unruly blonde waves and wire-rimmed spectacles that were likely several decades out of fashion. The smile on those pale pink lips was all empathy, and there was no trace of insincerity in those robin’s-egg eyes. “Who…?”

“Aziraphale,” the angel replied. His soft hands left Dean’s temples and came to rest on Dean’s hands where they were braced beside him on the couch, the long fingers flexing ever so slightly. “And I appear to have arrived just in time.”

* * *

“Just relax, my dear.”

Dean was trying. He really was. But anxiety for Sam and rage over Adam and the outright terror caused by the empty space where Cas should have been were riding hard in his blood. Even killing Zachariah hadn’t been enough of an outlet. He wanted a kill… needed something dark and lethal that could die bloody under his hands…

“I said, relax.” The tone was sharper this time.

“I am, dammit!” His eyes snapped open to glare at Aziraphale, who sat opposite him with a slightly ruffled air. “It’d be easier if I could get a damn drink or something.”

The blue eyes behind the spectacles became slightly startled, and then brightened as a steaming mug appeared beside Dean’s hand. “Ah, there you are, my boy. Should have realized you might need something soothing in all the bother; my apologies.”

It was absolutely impossible to stay even mildly annoyed with the angel. Dean’s lips twitched as he murmured gratitude, carefully lifting the ceramic mug to his lips. Rich chocolate, redolent with spices and mint and the familiar tang of alcohol assailed his senses. Dean blinked, and then gave a genuine, almost childlike smile as he took a long drink.

It was the perfect temperature, precise balance of sweet and savor and alcohol burn, and the warmth washed through him like liquid sunshine. “That’s… really amazing.”

“Thank you.” The tips of Aziraphale’s ears turned pink at the praise. “My own blend, that. Took three centuries to work out the proportions properly. Goes rather excellently well with Crowley’s cream buns, though he’s the better at miracling those up.”

It was too good to gulp down, as was Dean’s habit when he was stressed. Forced by his own taste buds to slow down, Dean felt the warmth seep through him, banishing panic. Not urgency or worry; those wouldn’t leave until Cas was safe in his arms. And he wanted Cas there so badly that it physically hurt. But the blind fight-or-flight impulses were ebbing.

It let him breathe, let him think. He could feel Sam, safely nestled in with Gabriel upstairs, just a mental shout away. Could sense the soul-deep wounds left in his brother by Zachariah’s assault and Adam’s loss; Sam never took it well when they lost anyone on his watch, and he was taking Adam even harder. Dean could feel Gabriel, too, wrath humming like a struck tuning fork, fear for them all buried beneath. It was Gabriel he reached out to, elder brother to elder brother, wishing he could take the fear away from them both. _Sammy okay?_

 _*No. He will be, though.*_ Gabriel’s voice thrummed, fierce and angry. _*You ever do anything that recklessly, moronically, **suicidally** stupid again, **brother** , and the gloves are coming off; you get me? I **will** get creative if you even **consider** something this blatantly unapologetically fucking dumbass! What in my Father’s name Castiel even sees-*_

 _*Gabriel.*_ Sam’s voice sounded millennia old, an undercurrent of something Dean didn’t recognize threading the archangel’s name. He felt Gabriel back off instantly, Sam’s Gigantor presence almost pushing the archangel into the background. _*I’m fine, Dean. Just concentrate on finding Cas. We need him.*_

 _We’ll get ‘em both back, Sammy._ Dean hoped Sam could feel his determination; he could almost see Sam’s tired smile at the promise. _I ain’t leavin’ anyone else behind. We’re gonna get ‘em back and then we’re gonna end this thing for good. Promise._

_*I believe you, Dean. Now go find your mate; I don’t wanna deal with how much of a jerk you’re gonna be until he gets back on his own.*_

When Dean came back to himself after giving Sam a fraternal mental shove, he found Aziraphale watching him carefully, as if the angel knew that he’d been talking with Sam and Gabriel across the bond. It threw Dean a little when that impression registered, and the angel smiled. “A little calmer now?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah… thanks.”

“Love is a great source of stability, Dean. You needed your brother to ground you after what you’d been through in order to think rationally. Both perfectly understandable and perfectly normal.” Aziraphale patted Dean’s hand, giving him an encouraging smile. “But we really should buckle down and see to poor Castiel, don’t you think?”

“I still ain’t sure this is gonna work,” Dean hedged, settling back into the chair. “I’m not good at this psychic stuff like Sammy is.”

“It’s really not all that complicated, dear boy. You just need to relax.” Aziraphale shifted, unconsciously pressing his glasses a little further up onto the bridge of his nose. The angel bore the kind of endlessly patient expression that put even Castiel to shame. “Now, close your eyes and let yourself breathe.”

Uncertain, desperate to try, Dean did as instructed. He let his eyes slide closed and leaned back into the couch cushions, focusing on the rhythm of breath in his lungs.

“That’s it… deep, slow… breathe in… breathe out… this isn’t a battle, dear boy. No swords to draw, no enemies to fight. Just breathe… that’s it. Now… think of Castiel.”

The face popped into his mind on command. Soulful blue eyes, perpetual stubble, soft pink lips and softer raven hair that seemed never to lie flat, forever mussed… long fingers that knew his body like no other…

“Reach deeper.” Aziraphale’s voice seemed far away; clear but distant, like clouds on a summer horizon. “Not the vessel… the vessel will follow. The pieces know how they fit. Find his Grace, dear boy… think of the angel beneath the flesh.”

This was harder. Dean was physical, tangible. He was better on the ground, fighting and fucking and touching and tasting… Sammy was the cerebral one… good at all the psychic stuff. He’d be able to do this, no problem… but then, he wouldn’t have almost given up on his mate…

“You can do this,” Aziraphale urged. “You called his sword; it is with you even now. You can find him. You’ve seen his true face… felt what he is… you can do this, Dean…”

The sword… Dean had almost forgotten the sword… could feel it now, sheathed at his back, waiting for its owner to return…

_Flashing in Hellfire… bright as new light from the evening star… just like the one who wielded it. Its bearer was light: all perfect curves of light and breath bent to form by an Unknowable Hand… starshine skin, golden armor, vambraces flashing, longer hair, dark as velvet night… and beyond…_

_Wings… vast mantle of fury and midnight fire, sweeping in an arching protective shield so graceful they couldn’t have been conceived by man… predator’s wings, powerful muscle and bone… Beauty and Fire and Grace…_

“That’s it.” Pride in that voice, remote as Eden’s gates. “Fix him there… the feel of him… don’t let go. Hold it like a beacon… let it grow stronger…”

_“It is time to go. Come, now.”_

_“I can’t. I made a deal.”_

_“You were not made for this: for suffering and torment. It is ended. Come with me.”_

_Hesitation. Worthlessness. Fear. The appalling joy of the blade still dripping in his blood-soaked hand…_

_“In the Name of God, you are absolved of this place, Dean Winchester. Come, now, or all is lost.”_

_“Sam…” Pain. He hadn’t thought of Sam in years… didn’t want Sam to see… to know what he’d become…_

_One hand touched his wrist, just above the blade’s hilt. He gasped, fingers nerveless as the gentle balm of that touch, cool and warm all at once, spread out under his skin: cleaning, scouring, burning and washing and banishing shadows, dissolving the Dark… “Your brother will not fall to harm. Your deal was fulfilled; his life cannot forfeit if you leave this place.”_

_Eyes so blue… so deep and rich… cobalt and lapis with tiny flecks of gold…_

_“Dean… come away now. Please.”_

_He went, trusting as a child, into those arms. Wings spread wide, catching the currents of heat and they were flying…_

_“Cas… **Castiel…** ”_

_Sparks. Tiny sparkles, coalescing. Trying to find each other. Aziraphale’s voice was too far now, dim and indistinct. Music… broken chords… notes dangling, unfinished symphonies… Celtic reels and war anthems, funerary dirges and romantic idylls… he reached, trying to catch the notes in his hands… to mend the broken measures._

_“Castiel… Cas, please. I’m here. I’m okay; I didn’t give up. Cas…? Castiel?! Dammit, Castiel, don’t you give up on me!”_

_Power chord. Thunder. Dean’s voice rang out and every note seemed to strike, catching and humming like tuning forks, relaying the Call… a network of stardust sparkles, echoing out… Grace calling to Grace, responding as one…_

_“I love you, you stubborn angel! Now pull yourself together; I can’t do this alone! You promised, Castiel! You promised you wouldn’t leave me!”_

_Stronger, gathering like a great storm… driven by Dean’s Call, each piece seemed to reach out to him, hooking in and pulling against him… dragging… Scrambling, startled, Dean grabbed with everything he had… casting about for an anchor, a foundation, **something** … Castiel was pulling Dean apart trying to come back together…_

_Something wrapped around him, behind him: just a head taller, a few inches broader. Great hands at his waist, spanning it easily, steadying him… light and dark, fitting against him like a missing piece of himself… “Sam.”_

_A sweet smile, still somehow shy after all the horrors of their lives. “I’ve got you, Dean.”_

_Relief and love, sweeping away panic. Dean let Sam be his rock and pulled against Cas, let his angel use him as a counterweight. Let Castiel’s Grace piece itself together, drawn by the torchlight of his soul._

_Rush. Fury. Flame and earth and water and wind. It backwashed over the bond, an undertow Dean couldn’t fight, didn’t try… he could feel Castiel in it, whole once more, falling through the Veil faster than light…_

_Love hit Dean like the smash of a collapsing mountain, and he was lost._


	8. Crossing the Rubicon – Part Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for the warnings, notes, disclaimer and song list.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

“Dean?” Worry. Exhaustion.

“He’s found his way back.” Calmer, but no less tired.

“Dean…” Hope warring with anxiety. “Dean: come on, man. Wake up.”

He didn’t want to. It was too much. Too hard. Too raw and painful and Cas still wasn’t here…

Thinking of his mate drew out a pulse. Weak, so weak, like candle flame in the depths of a cave. Barely more than a flicker, but it was there.

“Rise and shine, Deano.” Gabriel. He could identify the voices now, his consciousness rising as if the weak pulse from Cas had given him a push.

A low groan, and Dean forced his body to sit up. Sam’s hands were at his back, helping him up, and Dean’s hand found Sam’s bicep, gripping tight in both reassurance and gratitude. “How long was I out?”

“Almost six hours.” Sam wasn’t letting go, his face pinched and pale. “Backlash almost killed you.”

“Backlash?” Dean blinked at him. He felt muzzy, strange, not quite fitting back into his skin.

“The banishing sigil has _never_ been activated when carved into living flesh, let alone a possessed vessel,” Gabriel apprised. His merry eyes were barely lit, the color of butterscotch syrup over chocolate ice cream. “What Castiel did trying to reach you… no bomb humans could ever build would detonate that big.”

A shudder convulsed through Dean as he remembered. “I was hooked in for that; how come it didn’t take me out like this did?”

“You weren’t holding on then like you were this round, would be my guess.” Gabriel shrugged. “Or Cas was partially shielding all of us. Like I said: he did something no one’s ever done, and the bonds we have, no angel’s even used with another angel in millennia.”

“So when I gave him an anchor while he pulled himself together…”

“You got caught in the reverse bomb blast,” Gabriel finished with a nod.

Dean tried to get up, swayed as the world spun on its axis and nearly crashed back into Sam. Sam caught him, pulled him in and held him. Dean was just tired enough to be grateful for it and ignore everything else he’d trained himself to feel when those huge arms wrapped around him. The ache of the last few days was starting to set in, and this was long from over. “Where’s Cas? He’s not here; where’d he land?”

“Closest fix I could get was off Delacroix Island, Louisiana.” Gabriel passed a tired hand across his eyes. “His grace is weak as a new kitten right now; until he heals, I can’t nail it down, even with the bonds between us.”

“Bobby’s monitoring John Doe hospital admissions in that area,” Sam assured him. “Soon as he gets a hit, we’ll go.”

Dean didn’t like it. He wanted to move, to go get Cas now. The energy to do so seemed to have been leeched from his limbs. “What about your angels? Or Aziraphale?”

“Zira’s gonna stay here and molest Singer’s library.” Gabriel’s lips half-smirked at the thought. “Abbi and Mal are watching the fallout. Michael knows about me now, if he’s wearing your brother, and he knows their loyalty is to me above any other save Dad. They’re gonna lay low and keep their eyes peeled.”

“They’re safe?” Dean insisted.

“As any of us anymore.” There was a strange note in Gabriel’s expression; something like surprise commingled with genuine gratitude at Dean’s concern.

Nodding once, Dean reached out and snagged Gabriel’s wrist. The archangel let out a startled little yelp as his smaller body was yanked down into Dean’s and Dean nestled back into Sam. “You look like the Goddamned walking dead, both of you. We ain’t any good to Cas if we can’t lift a muscle.”

“You’re no prize at the moment,” Gabriel sniped, his tone lacking heat as he burrowed willingly into Dean’s warmth. Sam wrapped around both of them and Gabriel’s right hand slid past Dean’s hip into Sam’s waistband, fingers just grazing the brand he’d left on Sam’s hip. “Castiel would think you needed resurrecting all over again.”

“Shut up.” Dean closed his eyes again. Sam was a giant wall of warmth and comfort behind him, and the archangel was a brazier-like bundle that snuggled into him far too damned nicely to protest more strenuously.

It wasn’t perfect. Cas wasn’t here. But Dean didn’t want to examine why it was exactly what he needed just now, and so let himself fall back into a peaceful, healing sleep.

* * *

_“I told him it was okay.”_

_They were back on the fishing dock. Dean blinked up from his chair at the familiar profile, though it lacked the immortal sheen that cast across Castiel’s features even in his dreams. “Jimmy?”_

_“Hi, Dean.” A crooked smile, somewhat freer than Castiel’s ever was, but nowhere near as melting to Dean’s sensibilities. “Been a while.”_

_“Yeah.” Dean shifted uncomfortably, standing up. He felt oddly like he was talking to an ex-girlfriend or a lover’s parent. “Lots of stuff gone down since you last popped in.”_

_“I know.” Jimmy didn’t move much, hands in his pockets, rocking from heel to toe. A human gesture that Castiel never made. “He asked my permission before he completed the bond. I told him it was okay.”_

_“Did he tell you…?” Dean couldn’t finish the question, coloring faintly even in the dream. “I mean…”_

_“Yes, he told me what it entailed.” Jimmy’s lips quirked. “I had a sense of something between you two before, so I wasn’t really surprised. But I appreciate your… restraint, I guess you’d call it… before the mating bond was finished.”_

_Dean flinched inwardly at the reminder of all that had held him back with Castiel. “Jimmy, I swear-”_

_“Dean, it’s okay.” Jimmy never moved towards him, let him keep his personal space, simply turned to fully face the younger man. “I’m not conscious of what’s happening. I agreed to let Cas have this because I don’t begrudge either of you anything. And you’ve shown me more respect than most people would in the same situation. But you’re not raping me while you’re making love to Castiel, Dean. I told Cas it was all right and now I’m telling you.”_

_“It’s still your body, though,” Dean protested weakly. “And you’re not bi.”_

_Jimmy laughed faintly. “I hardly see how that matters. Even before I found out I was a vessel for an angel, one of the tenets of my faith was always that our bodies are just a shell, a housing for our souls until God calls us home. There are a lot worse things that have been done to this body while Cas has been in control of it than what’s going on between you two.”_

_“Jimmy…”_

_“Enough, Dean.” Jimmy’s expression hardened ever so slightly. “Castiel was all set to let the completion of that bond be a one-time-deal; I’m the one that told him abandoning your bed afterwards would be a bad idea. You two… you’re like something out of an old fairy tale. You need each other and I’m not going to stand in the way of that by being missish over the fact that it’s my body Cas is using at the moment.”_

_A moment passed. Dean felt some of the tangle of guilt slip away. He’d wondered at whether or not Castiel had gotten Jimmy’s permission; should have realized there was no way Castiel wouldn’t have, with how big of a deal consent was to angels. It still wasn’t easy to wrap his brain around. “Are you really here? Or are you just my subconscious trying to weasel out of some guilt?”_

_“Yes, Dean. It’s really me. You’re not raping me; I consented to this, specifically, when Cas asked my permission to save your life. Stop agonizing over it.”_

_Why he believed it, Dean decided not to question. It felt good to let go that anxiety, the feeling that he was hurting an innocent man by allowing himself to have Castiel. “How are you even here, then?” he asked, unable to help poking at it. “You’ve never come forward before unless Cas is…”_

_“He’s still in me,” Jimmy assured him quickly. “I think I can reach across his bond to you because he’s so weak right now; I’m the only thing keeping my body alive. You need to find us; he needs you.”_

_“Do you know where you are?” Dean asked quickly._

_“No.” Jimmy rocked on his heels again. “Do me a favor, though? If you can?”_

_“Anything,” Dean promised quickly._

_“Check on Amelia and Claire. Make sure they’re okay.” Jimmy paused. “I don’t know why I haven’t just died,” he admitted, uncertainty crossing his features. “When that archangel blew us up, I probably should have. But… it’s like someone, whoever put us back together, didn’t think it would be fair if I did. Thought I should have a chance to get my life back when this is over. I don’t know what that means for you and Cas, but that’s just the impression I get.”_

_Dean smiled. “I agree with ‘em, whoever it was. And I’ll check on your girls. Promise.”_

_“Thanks, Dean.” Jimmy smiled even as he blurred at the edges. “You need to wake up now, Dean,” he urged quietly. “You need to find us. Hurry, Dean… Dean…”_

_The world began to wobble around them, blurring and swirling like paint dripped into water. Jimmy faded, separate from the rest, his image dissolving like a ghost in a movie as Dean’s name echoed around him, the not-quite-gravel gentleness giving way to urgency from a voice Dean would know in any reality…_

* * *

“Dean!”

Sam was shaking him awake, the insistence in his voice cutting through the dregs of Dean’s dream state like a knife. Dean came upright with a start, blade in his hand and scalloping to strike whatever was threatening Sam on instinct. Sam blocked it just as naturally, catching Dean’s wrist before the dagger in his hand found a target. “Bobby got a hit; John Doe matching Cas’ description admitted to Natchitoches Regional.”

Jade eyes went huge and he scrambled up from the bed, sheathing the knife and grabbing his bag. “What’s his status?”

“Coma,” Sam replied gently. “Gabriel’s pretty sure he’ll be okay, though. Abariel’s already there, trying to gauge the damage.”

“Awesome.” Dean flung his jacket on, looking around for an angel. “Sammy, bring the Impala; by the time you get there, we should be able to bail. Cas’ll be fine now we can get our angels on it.” There was a stunned expression on Sam’s face that brought Dean up short. “What?”

“Just… um…” Sam looked a little chagrinned. “You never let me drive the Impala that far unless you’re riding shotgun. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Need to get there, Sammy,” Dean replied, a trace of impatience in his voice. He knew where Cas was, needed to get to him. Needed to make sure Cas knew… “The ‘Pala’s awesome, but even she ain’t fast enough just now.”

Gabriel and Aziraphale had come up to join them; Dean’s words had brought nearly identical expressions to their faces: a mixture of affection and amusement, with just a hint of knowing smugness on Gabriel’s where Aziraphale was just terribly pleased for his brother angel. “Just remember to breathe, dear boy,” the English angel advised gently, and then he touched Dean’s forehead just above his third eye.

* * *

As soon as he landed, it started in earnest: a pull, steady and insistent and burning. Dean crossed traffic at a sprint, dodging into the non-emergency entrance and slipping through the halls with purposeful steps, giving every impression of someone that had been here visiting a patient several times before.

He got lost on the ward, turned around. The pull was stronger by the second, but it was just an urgency of knowing, of feeling Castiel was nearby. Dean would have preferred a damn room number, but he hadn’t thought to ask Gabriel to get it from Abariel before he’d left and it didn’t occur to him to stop and ask through the bond, not when he was so close.

Unfortunately, his casual perusal through open doors and attempts to furtively peer at the names on charts wasn’t going unnoticed by the nurses. It was only a matter of time before they got security up here, and Dean needed to hurry. Rounding a corner, following the relentless burning draw, he crossed the hall and caught sight of a familiar profile prone in a sterile bed…

A meaty paw latched onto his shoulder and hauled him back, half yanking him off his feet. “Visiting hours aren’t for casual observers,” the guard growled. “Y’all better be movin’ on.”

“And _y’all_ better let me the fuck go before you lose that hand.” Dean shoved himself free, only to be hemmed away from the door to Cas’ room by more guards.

“Best forget whatever you got planned, boy,” a wiry fellow sneered. “Creepers ain’t welcome.”

“I ain’t a goddamn creeper; I’m here to see that guy.” Dean ducked and shoved, got manhandled back. “Let go of me!”

“Family visits only on this ward,” yet another voice insisted. “You looked a bit lost comin’ up here to be family.”

“Fuck you!” Dean spat. “I was in California; I just found out what happened. Now let me in.”

“Family-”

“He’s my husband, Goddamn it!”

The snarling declaration brought the guards up short; a moment of confusion let Dean pull free of their grip, though they were still loathe to let him pass. Dean was about to make a serious advance and quite possibly deal out heavy bodily damage to anyone who stayed in his way when another voice smoothly cut into the silence.

“It’s all right, gentlemen.” Abariel, looking thoroughly human in an open-collared white shirt, indigo-wash jeans and a leather jacket not unlike Dean’s own, had rounded the corner with two cups of coffee in hand. “I’ve been expecting my brother-in-law. If you please?”

At his calm request, the security guards backed off. Dean flashed a grateful smile at Abariel before all but sprinting into Castiel’s room.

His mate laid in the bed, pale and lifeless, an angry red sigil stitched but still fiery stark against his chest. Dean’s heart lurched and he stumbled to a chair at Castiel’s bedside, duffel finding the floor carelessly as his hands clasped one of his angel’s. The skin was far too cold; the eyes beneath nearly translucent lids never flickered. Dean fought down panic, feeling Abbi follow him into the room. “He’s cold.”

“The vessel is healing slowly,” Abariel replied, voice calm and gentle in the sterile quiet of the room. “His grace is still too weak to mend the damage. Now that you’re here, though, his grace will recover more quickly.”

“How?”

The vulnerability in Dean just them, the blank self-hating fear that not only had he caused this but that the consequences could not be fully undone tore at Abariel’s heart. Periwinkle eyes deepened to violet, a smile of empathy and comfort twining across his generous mouth. “You really don’t know, do you, Dean? You’ve really received so little love in your life that you don’t understand its power… its influence on our kind.” Dean looked up sharply and Abariel sighed. “You _must_ talk to him, Dean. It’s important, not just for your relationship, but for his survival.”

Something in Dean rallied at that, and his grip on Castiel’s hand tightened. “Soon as he wakes up,” Dean asserted softly.

“Then let him feel you,” Abbi instructed. “Just like a mortal in a coma, it will help him to know that he isn’t alone in the dark.”

Nodding once, Dean turned inward, releasing his inhibitions. Keeping Castiel out had brought this about. It made sense that the only way to fix it would be to do the opposite. To let Castiel in.

There were images he didn’t understand, snatches of sounds he’d never heard. A heaven he’d never seen. A Gate, vast and forbidding, and seraphim on guard, with wings unfurled and bright-edged blades. Seraphs he recognized. Aziraphale. Uriel. Anael. All creatures of light and dagger-keen beauty, so unlike their vessels. And yet Dean would know them anywhere, because Castiel had known them in this form long before they had taken mortal guises.

These were the faces Castiel had seen when he looked on them, the faces Castiel remembered when he was haunted by Uriel and Anael’s deaths.

A woman, softly curved, bright green eyes always on the man by her side, whose summer blue eyes perfectly matched the sky. Edom. Yeva. God’s first mortal children. Castiel had known them. Seen their lives. Could still see traces of them in the lines of Dean’s body, in the color of his eyes and the shape of his smile.

Michael, shining Sun Prince. Heylel, fearful beauty, Morning Star. Gabriel, sunset hair and bright eyes that still held so much mirth and mayhem, untouched by the despair of recent years. Raphael, when he was still God’s Gentle Healer. Legions of them, beyond count or measure, wingtip to wingtip across the Heavens.

Castiel was dreaming of Heaven. Of home. Of brothers and sisters lost to war and death. Of the Paradise he was now denied, by Lucifer’s rebellion and his own.

Too weak to keep the images away, Castiel dreamed, and Dean dreamed with him, of all that he had given up for the love of a mortal child. Of the brothers and sisters he had destroyed so that Dean would not have to take Sam’s life. He dreamed of things that had been lost and could never be recovered, even if he could be forgiven for his own sins, because too much had changed. Too much could never be put right again.

And then the certain knowledge that Dean would give him up, when presented the chance. That Dean, for whom he had given up the last vestiges of the Home he longed for, would throw away the love that had given Castiel the strength to turn his face from Heaven’s tainted light.

Dean didn’t know he was weeping, barely felt Abariel’s hand stroking over his hair. Surrounded in dreams that Castiel could not control, Dean only knew the heartbreak his beloved angel lived in every day, fearing that everything he had given was for the sake of a man who did not truly love him.

It was a punishment for indulging faithless doubt that not even Hell could have devised, and Dean submitted to penance willingly, his head tipping forward as he silently wept against the clammy skin of his angel.

* * *

A hand sliding through his hair startled Dean from the half-drowse he’d slipped into when his tears had finally been spent. A touch so gentle and familiar that his body knew it before his mind fully woke, and his eyes were wet with tears of pure relief. “Cas?”

“Dean.” The gravel rough voice was thready, weak, throbbing with wonder and worship and love. “You… are still yourself.”

“ ‘Course I am.” Dean shifted, inching as close as he could get. “Who else would I be?”

“I was…” Castiel ran his hand down Dean’s face, soaking in the warmth of his skin, relief washing through him in waves as Dean brought the hand to his lips and kissed the palm. “You didn’t…”

“ ‘Course not; don’t be stupid, Cas.” Dean’s smile went crooked, belying the tear that slid free and tracked warm saline down his left cheek. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.” His throat closed and Dean drew in the scent of Castiel’s skin, tinged with stale hospital and remnants of gulf salt water. His heart ached with the guilt of what he’d nearly done, the irrevocable step he’d almost taken even as Castiel had been preparing to nearly destroy himself in an effort to save him. “Just rest, Cas, okay? Turning yourself into an angelic suicide bomb means you’re damned well on bed rest for a while.”

“Of course, beloved.” Castiel just kept staring at him, eyes so full, too full: awe and understanding and gratitude and love.

It overwhelmed Dean, stealing the air from his lungs and drawing his chest tight around his heart. His lower lip trembled, and then Dean leaned close to kiss his angel. Castiel made a tiny sound, his hand sliding up into Dean’s hair and gripping as tightly as he could. “Don’t you _ever_ do anything like that again,” Dean admonished softly. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“And I believed you would forsake me,” Castiel replied, his tone fathomless. “You kept me out, Dean; even after you were taken, you shielded yourself from me. And I have little doubt Zachariah told you how to break the bond between us.” Dean flinched at that, guilt rising like bile in his throat. It gave Castiel all the confirmation he needed. “After everything, beloved… everything I have given, everything that has passed between us…”

“You shouldn’t have!” It came out sharper than Dean intended, a half-shout that he instantly regretted, but when no nurses came bustling in to berate him for it, Dean breathed and refocused on his mate. “You love me. You gave up everything for me; killed your brothers because I refuse to kill mine. And I fucked up. I failed; you said so yourself. I let you down. I let everyone down; it’s the one thing I’m good at, when all’s said and done. I had a chance to protect you and Adam and Sam and end this thing that I started when I broke on that rack.” Tears blurred his vision and he looked away, unable to bear the blue of that gaze. “And in the end, I wasn’t even strong enough to do that.”

 _*I have never known any creature, anywhere, as strong as you are, Dean.*_ Castiel’s hand exerted the faintest pressure, making Dean’s head lift until their eyes met again. _You bear within you such great capacity for love, Dean… and when those you love are at stake, you embrace the gifts it bestows on you. The strength of will that would lead you to challenge Fate herself for the right to shape the future. The courage to fight when all else seems hopeless.*_

 _Be nice if that was true, Cas,_ Dean protested silently. _But we both know different._

Finally losing his temper, Castiel’s hand lifted and he slapped Dean hard on the back of the head. Dean let out a yelp and scowled, but the expression melted in the face of the blue flame in Castiel’s gaze. “Your family seems genetically incapable of listening when others speak, beloved. But you will this time.

“You think that there is some piece of you that will one day convince me you are unworthy of love. **You are _wrong_**. You love others with so much of yourself that there is nothing left to devote to your own deepest needs. You measure the worth of your deeds and yourself against that, and your unceasing hunger to do more, to be more, to give more leaves you incapable of ever understanding precisely how much you already do, what you already are. You are _far_ from a perfect man, Dean Winchester, but there is no part of you, even your faults, that I do not love. And you are worthy of that love because I deem it so.”

For a moment, Dean’s breath held in his throat. He wanted to believe it, wanted to just let Castiel’s fervent words reshape his reality as Castiel’s gentle grace had once reshaped his battered soul and decaying body.

“You were strong enough to bring me back from oblivion, beloved,” Castiel reminded him.

“I had help,” Dean admitted. “Couldn’t’ve done it without Sam.” The words caught in his throat, echoing in his heart. _He’s the strong one, not me. He’s always been stronger than me._

_*Your love for him, and his for you, have always been the core of each other’s strength, Dean, and always will be. I didn’t know before, how much of each of you resides in the other. It is a wondrous thing, not a source of shame, to share so much. And you should never allow anyone to convince you otherwise.*_

Dean’s eyes widened a little, then softened, and he bent to press a soft kiss to Castiel’s forehead. “Sleep, angel,” Dean murmured, settling back into his chair. “I’ll watch over you.”

A small half-smile, the kind that lit up both Castiel’s face and Dean’s heart simultaneously, and then Castiel closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.


	9. Crossing the Rubicon – Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for the warnings, notes, disclaimer and song list.

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

The shrill, high-pitched scream and blinding light overtook everything. Adam refused to flinch or weep or cower. He had chosen this: not for the world, but for his brothers; and he would not let this archangel see him afraid.

Sensation faded, the air still ringing around him. Adam’s facial muscles relaxed slower than the rest of him, confusion creeping over him at the realization that he still felt like himself. Or at least he thought so. He didn’t seem to feel any different, or displaced within his own body or…

“Hello, Adam.”

His eyes snapped in the direction of the voice as Adam stepped back. The man standing before him, a few feet too close for Adam’s liking but not close enough to really be a threat, was gazing at him with an unreadable, somehow serene expression on his face.

It was a painfully beautiful face.

Bathed in a shimmer of light, like sunlight reflected off a pool of water, the skin was somewhere between alabaster and golden, touched here and there with freckles. The hair faming the face and falling past his broad shoulders was a wave of pure gold, like a wheat field rippling under the autumn sun. High cheekbones, patrician nose, eyes that were perfect almond in both shape and color. The kind of eyes that had lived through far too many wars, but whose earthy nut-brown depths showed none of the personal Hell those wars had wreaked. Showed only the kind of calm and competence that could make one believe an impossible battle wasn’t so impossible after all, just because this man was there.

Adam stood his ground, unwilling to show anything other than defiant stoicism. He refused to acknowledge fear, ignored the overwhelming beauty and presence.

It was very hard to not give in to the voice that whispered in his mind: _This is Michael. The actual archangel. Real proof that God exists, that miracles happen, that where you were was Heaven. This is an angel of the Lord…_

Slowly, with grace that would put fairy tale princes to shame, Michael turned and walked to the body of the angel Dean had killed. Sadness so infinite that it made Adam want to cry out suffused that ageless face, and long fingers brushed over Zachariel’s fallen form.

“You tried, Brother,” Michael murmured, his voice gentle but strident. “May the light of your grace find our Father; may He absolve you of your faults and failures in His service; may you be reborn by His Will when He returns.”

The ashen remnants of great teal wings seemed to dissolve, and Michael smiled once as he gazed into the wide-blown eyes of the vessel Zachariah had used. “And you, child of Edom: go now and rest in the Fields of our Father. You have served us well, and peace shall be your reward.”

A faint shimmer, and the body faded away, vanished as though it had never been there at all. Michael lingered for a moment, crouched as his eyes seemed to be reading something in the air itself, and then he stood and turned to Adam. “So… my brother Gabriel is still alive.” That beautiful face was still serene, somehow pensive rather than angry as Adam had predicted. “I always wondered. It’s good to know.”

“You never tried to find him?” Adam couldn’t help the faintly accusing tone in his voice. Gabriel had made an impression in the short time Adam had known him, and there was no mistaking how much Sam loved him.

It disconcerted Adam a little, how quickly these brothers he’d gone a lifetime without knowing had suddenly become so important to him.

“Because he didn’t want me to,” Michael replied. “Gabriel forgets that I’ve known him… all of our kin… from the first moments of their creation. I was there when each and every one was made by our Father’s Hand; I have mourned every death, and rejoiced in them as well.” Adam strangled out an outraged sound. Michael merely smiled: a smile of total peace, of absolute faith. “Every angel that dies returns to our Father, Adam. No matter where He is, no matter how angry He is with me, He will not turn away their broken graces. When this is over, they will be made new, with no memory of Father’s absence. It is a blessing I could almost envy them, were it not for the considerable chance that I will share their Fate.”

“Why?” Adam was angry, helpless in the face of such unshakable belief. “Why are you doing this?”

Michael approached him slowly, every movement a liquid, stealthy glide. A warrior poet from time out of mind, faith in his Father glowing from within. “Why… the perpetual question of children.”

“I’m not a child,” Adam protested weakly. The archangel was right there… right in Adam’s space and Adam could feel the warmth radiate through him, suffusing every pore… he wanted to fall to his knees, to swoon and say…

“We are all children,” Michael murmured. “We all yearn for answers. But we aren’t always ready for them when we ask, and yet so many of my brothers and sisters rage at my Father for not telling us what it would only harm us to know.”

He didn’t touch Adam. He didn’t need to. Adam reached out, hands latching onto the angel’s surprisingly solid forearms for support. “Please…”

A faint brush of lips on his forehead. The throbbing insistence eased, allowing Adam to breathe and his grip on Michael to loosen. When he was steadier, Michael guided Adam to a couch, pressing him down and letting one of his golden wings furl out to wrap around the young human’s shoulders. “You are much like your namesake, little nephew,” Michael observed gently. “For that, I decided to use this in-between space to take what fleeting form I can, and I will tell you what I am able. But there are some things I cannot tell, and others I will not, and we do not have an eternity to linger here. So choose your questions with care.”

Adam took a breath, steadied himself. He was, against all sanity, possibly the last chance anyone had of getting through to Michael. He wasn’t going to let Sam and Dean down. “You’re supposed to be the good guys. You’re supposed to stop the world from burning, not help it along. Why are you doing this?”

“Most of your kind cannot see beyond the paradigm shift,” Michael replied. “You, Adam, should be able to. You were in Heaven before I had need to call upon you. You remember it. Would you not want all humans to have the same happiness? To be content, forever enveloped in the perfect place our Father’s love has created for them?”

“I didn’t want to go there before I had a chance to live,” Adam shot back. “I was going to be a doctor; save lives. I never got a chance to _do_ anything-”

“Were you kind to others?” Michael interrupted.

Adam blinked, feeling abruptly like he was being given a pop quiz. “Um… maybe. Sometimes.”

“Those kindnesses moved beyond yourself, Adam. All good does, as much as evil. And Death obeys laws deeper even than God’s, laws which have no care for age or accomplishment.” He regarded Adam with somber brown eyes. “You’re asking the wrong questions, little one.”

“I don’t know what you want from me!” Adam shouted, bursting up from the couch and rounding on the angel. “I was just a kid with a deadbeat dad who showed up every so often to take me to a ball game. Just a kid who wanted to be a doctor and help people, who needed financial aid to go to college and wanted to get past third base before I hit med school. I had a mom and friends and a normal life and I want them back! I want them back…”

There were tears on his cheeks as Michael watched him, slowly standing to reach out and brush them away with gentle fingers. “I know.”

“Those… things _ate_ her,” Adam accused. “They ate her and I wasn’t there… and then they ate _me_.” He looked up at Michael, accusation etched into heart-broken blue eyes. “Why did you let it happen? If you needed me to be born in the first place, where were you when I was getting eaten alive? Where were my brothers? Where was anybody?”

“Do you remember it?” Michael asked.

“What?” Adam’s face knitted in confusion at the question.

“Do you remember how it **felt** to be eaten alive?”

Adam started to say yes. Stopped. He _knew_ it had happened, like he knew that earthquakes happened on fault lines or that his mother’s father had died of a heart attack just a year after he’d been born. But the immediacy of the experience, the sensation memory of teeth sinking in and tearing away chunks of his living flesh, the scent of his own blood and the feel of his excrement as panic and pain had taken root…

He didn’t have any of that. It simply was no longer there, couldn’t be accessed no matter how hard he shook the vaults of his memory.

“No,” Adam admitted slowly. “I don’t.”

“There are many things I cannot prevent, Adam, but what gifts I can give, I do.” Michael brushed at the drying tear tracks again. “Your mother doesn’t remember, either, and she is safe. Happy in her own Heaven, her reward for delivering you safely unto the world.”

“You can’t get me to say yes with just her anymore,” Adam countered, pulling back a step. “My price is higher now.”

Michael’s ageless brow furrowed unhappily. “Is that what you think? That I come seeking your flesh like a man seeks a whore, offering a pittance in the hopes of fleeting gratification?” Adam shifted uncomfortably. Michael closed the distance between them again. “Never. You are a gift beyond price, Adam. Precious and rare, to be granted any favor in my power to bestow as thanks for the boon I would ask.”

“Not the first choice to ask, though,” Adam reminded him archly.

“What would you have me say, Adam?” Michael returned, his tone tart with irritation.

“Quit tryin’ to court me or trick me or be all… poetical,” Adam huffed. “Just tell me what you want, and don’t lie to me.”

“Plain speech, then.” Michael sighed. “Very well. Plainly spoken? I underestimated Dean. I totally dismissed the possibility that Castiel could be swayed so completely. And Zachariel has blundered more often and completely with his task than I’d believed possible. But none of that changes what I _must_ do, and I cannot do it without your help.”

“Why even do it as all?” Adam switched gears, hoping to convince him. That it wasn’t too late. “Dean and Sam… they’re trying to put Lucifer back in the Cage, to stop the apocalypse so everything can just go back to normal. Why not just let them?”

“Because my Father will never return to Heaven if I don’t.”

The reply was so soft, so sorrowful, so self-hating that Adam nearly missed it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that my Father gave me an Order, little one: return your brother to the Host in humility or strike him down. Twice have I cast Lucifer down, and yet still Father remains distant, turns His face from us. A thousand apocalypses have been prepared and I have allowed them all to be averted, trying to prolong what must come to pass, hoping against hope that Father or Lucifer might relent. And now Father has left us, and it is my fault. The spheres are filled with the songs of my siblings pleading for His return. But He will not… not until I kill Lucifer.”

“Lucifer could kill you,” Adam pointed out. “ _Us_ , and then what happens to your brilliant plan?”

“If I die, then I have failed, but it will be _my_ failure, not theirs. Father will return to protect them from Lucifer; He will not abandon them to slaughter at the hands of Hell. Either way, they will have Him back. What happens to me doesn’t matter so long as that comes to pass.”

“And what happens to me?” Adam demanded. “If your grand suicide or martyrdom or whatever goes down, where do I go?”

Michael reached up, cupping Adam’s cheek. “You will be with Him, too, little one. Your reward is assured, no matter what happens to me. I promise it, on the Grace my Father gave me. You will be safe.” Adam opened his mouth to respond. Michael cut him off. “Please, Adam. Your brothers’ intentions are good, but even free will and destiny must be in balance. I cannot do this alone, and yet I cannot compel you. I can only ask.

“I will do anything you wish, grant you anything you desire. Only please help me finish this. Help me fix the mistake I made. Help me bring my Father back to those that need Him. Please, nephew. _Please_.”

Adam shook, the press of Michael’s grace stirring inside him again. He _wanted_ … “You have to promise me that you won’t hurt them.”

“Who, little one?”

“Gabriel, Castiel, Sam and Dean. The people helping them… angels, too. You have to promise me that you’ll leave them be, let them stay together. I won’t do it if you don’t promise.”

“Adam…”

“You said anything,” Adam accused. “I don’t care how pissed you are at them. They’re just trying to do what’s right. You fuck people over for that, and there’s no point to any of this.”

“All right,” Michael agreed. “So long as they do not side with Hell, I will not act against them, nor will I order their punishment for their rebellion. They will be safe to spend eternity together, whatever happens.”

“I do want to at least see my mom when this is over,” Adam added. “I wanna see for myself that she’s okay.”

“Easily granted.”

“And I want you to wait as long as you can before going after Lucifer,” Adam finally tossed out, vaguely breathless at his own daring. “Give them as much time as possible to pull the plug on this clusterfuck.”

“Adam.” Michael’s tone was slightly reproving. “All things die eventually, Adam. That includes the world my Father made for you and your kind.”

“You have to give them a chance,” Adam insisted. “You want my meat? That’s my price: all of it.”

Bright eyes searched Adam’s face, and then Michael sighed in resignation. “You would be just as stubborn as him,” he muttered indignantly.

“The first Adam?”

“No,” Michael replied sourly. “That recalcitrant eldest brother of yours.”

Adam found himself grinning. “Runs in the family, I guess.”

“I suppose so.” Michael squared his shoulders, nodding. “Clemency, as much time as I can give this ‘Team Free Will’, and you will see your mother when all is done. You have your bargain, Adam.”

“Then you’ve got a body.” Michael nodded again, stepping closer, and Adam balked. “Wait…”

“What’s wrong now?” Michael’s expression tightened, his pale lips drawing into a slightly impatient line.

“This is gonna sound so lame,” Adam complained, then bit his lip before asking, “but… does it hurt?”

The impatience in Michael’s face melted into a smile, just the softest curl of those perfect lips, and then Adam was drawn into his arms. “No, little one,” he assured Adam softly. “It won’t hurt.”

A touch of lips, coming against his mouth before Adam realized it was happening. It was warm, electric, a bath of light and shimmering soft energy and Adam lost track of it as it wrapped him up, enveloped his senses and nestled him into safety…

And then it eased, just a little, until Adam felt like he was resting in the hammock at his Uncle Rory’s lake house on a summer afternoon. It was peaceful, and everything he might need to worry about was very far away. The cicadas buzzed in his ears, and Adam sighed before settling in for a long, pleasant nap.

* * *

Michael opened his flesh eyes to gaze at his surroundings. The Room was gone, being of no more use. Adam was at peace within him, though he knew that would not last until the end of their journey together. He would need all of his strength to see this through. But for now, he could conserve that strength. With a silent flutter of great wings, Michael took to the air. He had the time, and promises to keep.

And he wanted to see his brother just once more before he destroyed the second piece of his heart that he’d ever given away.

If Lucifer knew he was there, his little brother did nothing about it. Perhaps he was too prideful to see Michael as a threat even now. Perhaps he was in no more hurry to see the end of this road than Michael was. But Michael was glad, whatever the reason. It allowed him to store up one last glimpse, seeing through the crumbling corpse that was his brother’s current vessel to every nuance of his brother’s true form: all fierce beauty and luminous grace.

A final memory to carry him through the end. Surely his Father would not begrudge him that.

By the time Lucifer turned and might have seen him, Michael had flown far, far away.


End file.
